Convergent
by Dunno12345
Summary: This is my continuation of events after Allegiant. I don't like the ending (despite it, actually) so here is an addition that still follows the original book. By the way, I don't own any of the characters: they belong to Veronica Roth, this is just a fanfiction.
1. Tobias: Before (prologue)

I'm a little boy again.

The walls surge up and close in around me, inching nearer and nearer until I'm practically suffocating.

I place my hands against the surface, trying to get my heart rate under control; trying to steady my breathing and focus on anything that does not involve boxes or closets. When I feel like I'm about to shatter under the weight of the walls, they disappear and in their place falls Marcus.

It's been years since I last saw him, clothed in black as if ready to deliver punishment. But I don't think I'm afraid of him anymore. The little boy he used to beat and bruise has grown up. He has been trained to protect; he has learned and taught himself the things a real father should have. And I think I've done well. I hold out my hand, just as my father releases the whip that latches on to my wrist. I ignore the hot burst of pain that shoots up my arm and pull down forcefully in an abrupt jerk, disarming him. I look him dead in the eye, the fire on my skin somehow rejuvenating; a rush that expands from my fingers and to my toes.

"You can't hurt me anymore," I say.

And then he's gone.

The scene shifts once more, blurring at the edges as it spirals until I am standing in front of a small, sterile-looking room.

Nothing but white stands beyond me. Blank shelves line the walls, full of glass tubes with stagnant liquids inside. The floor beneath is simple tile. The transparent doors are sealed shut. I close my eyes for a second, knowing who I am about to see. This is not the first time I have been here, outside this room, but that doesn't make it any easier to witness or any less bearable to see. It has nearly caused me to stop using the serum. Some reasonable part of my mind tells me that this will do no good and that is serves me nothing beneficial; that it will only cause me further pain. And that is true. But I need to.

It is the only way I'll see her.

And sometimes, I just need to see her.

I open my eyes.

Tris stands before me, her eyes boring into my own, her arms hanging loosely at her sides.

"Tobias," she whispers and I want to run to her, I want to feel her alive and breathing so badly against me that my breath leaves my body in anticipation, but my feet won't move fast enough.

"Tris, wait," I say, trying to force my limbs to move. I'll tear them off if I have to, I just need to get to her. She starts walking backwards and the doors to the sterile room open.

She looks at me with sad, reluctant eyes. "I never wanted to leave you," she says.

"No!" I shout, and my legs are suddenly propelling me forward, but then she slips in between the doors and I reach them just as they slam shut once more. I push against the glass, as if expecting them to open, but I know they will not.

Because they never do.

"Tris!" I slam my arms against the glass, putting all my weight into it, hoping to break it, smash it, I don't care. The doors simply have to open. I stare down at her, wanting her to press a button that will remove the thin piece of glass that separates us, but she just holds her hand up to mine and presses. My mind flashes back to our time in Erudite, as she was being sent to her death, that feeling of helplessness somehow bland in comparison to this. I lie my forehead against the glass.

"Beatrice," I say, "you don't have to do this." But she only nods, a tear spilling over her cheek. "Yes Yes I do, Tobias."

My fist connects with the door. "No! No, you don't. You have a choice. Please, please," I beg.

I beg every time, as if that will change anything. But it won't, I know it won't. Yet still, I beg.

"It's okay," she soothes, her hand reaching up as if she can touch my hair, but then her fingers draw back, caressing the glass instead. "I'm sorry." Her fingers dance over the place above my lips before she removes them and moves back.

"No! Tris, please. Think about this. You don't owe him anything," I yell, hitting the barrier between us again and again, until the flesh over my knuckles is a vibrant red. "You don't owe him anything!"

But then the room blurs, slanting slightly and behind her appears David. Everything in me turns to fire, flaming, scorching; the hate coursing through my veins burns me from the inside out.

He raises a gun.

Like all the times before this, I try to warn her. I start screaming to her, and though she is already looking at me, it's as if I've suddenly gone mute and she can't understand. I pummel my fists into the glass, not even registering the pain as I kick, beat, battle with the doors, screaming for them to open. She needs to hear me. Please, just let her hear me.

But Tris only raises her hand and smiles.

"NO!" I shout.

But then I hear David load the gun.

I see Tris whirl around.

I see David aim as he fingers the trigger.

And

watch as he

pulls it.


	2. (part 2) Tobias: Before (prologue)

"Tobias! C'mon, man. Snap out of it," a voice echoes from above me.

My eyes snap open, gazing at the worried expression worn on the man hovering over me.

"It's been almost an hour," Zeke says, checking his watch as he helps me sit up from the chair. My entire body is shaking, the only thought consuming my mind being of a small girl with short hair, blonde strands stained red.

When I'm standing, I wave Zeke off and splay my hand against the wall, trying to keep my balance. "I'm fine," I say, though my voice sounds frail. I clear my throat.

In my perepheral vision, I see Zeke shake his head. "You've got to stop doing this to yourself, Four," he says. "It's not helping you."

Believe me, I know it doesn't help. But helping was never the motive. I only ached to see her; to hold her and this is the closest I'll ever get. There's pain, sure. Lots of it. But no decision comes without consequence; without payment. And I will pay in full if it means seeing her alive.

"I need to," I gasp, shoving off the wall. I sway, but stay erect.

Zeke crosses his arms and gives me a remorseful look, brown eyes boring into me. "She wouldn't want you to do this."

I shake my head. "You don't know what she would have wanted."

He shrugs. "Well, you do. If you'd died and somehow knew that Tris was doing this to herself...over and over again, do you honestly think that she would feel honored?"

I clench my hands fist at my sides. I understand what Zeke is saying and of course, I never would have wanted to see Tris the way I imagine myself to look now, but I can't help it. "If it made things easier," I reply. I grab the towel hung over the armrest of the chair and dab my forehead, feeling as sweat collects on my brows.

Zeke laughs, aggravated. This would usually be about the time he'd crack a joke. Say something about Tris and how she'd beat me if she knew what I was up to, but the Zeke with that humor is gone. In his place rests a man of small jokes, left beside the fading shadow of a younger brother who is no longer there.

Who hasn't been there for a while.

Zeke looks away, as if in disbelief. "Fine," he says. "Keep tormenting yourself if it makes you feel any better. But don't expect me to help with this." He turns to walk away, but stops just before leaving. "If you truly believe that this is what Tris wanted for you, if this is what she allowed for you...you didn't know her at all."

My anger piques, as if the hot water has just turned on inside me and I'm suddenly boiling. I purse my lips. "And you think you're doing it right?" I ask, stepping forward. "Please, Zeke...tell me how I'm supposed to do this. Tell me the do's and dont's of this entire issue. Tell me how to be fine. Because apparently, I'm doing it wrong."

"They wouldn't want this for us!" Zeke yells, his face suddenly right there in front of me, teeth clenched in anger. "It does them no respect! It doesn't show anyone their sacrifices; the people they were. You aren't required to be penitent." He spits the last word at me, but I remain stoic. He faces the wall and puts his hand against it as if it he is now the one who needs support. "Believe me," he says, "I understand. I understand how tempting it is to want to go in there and see them, even if it isn't real. Even if it's just for a second." Zeke faces me again, his eyes brimming with tears. The only time I've seen him cry was at Uriah's funeral and not a moment since. "But it isn't them!" he continues. "They aren't coming back, Four and keeping yourself locked away in the unreal is just a waste."

I don't want to have this conversation now. Not when everything is still so new; so clear. I look away from his eyes, unable to hold his gaze.

"It isn't the same, Zeke," I say.

"How so?"

I walk up to him and pause in the doorway, just before leaving. I glance at him and it's like everything in me suddenly deflates as the memory awakens from a dark, buried place inside.

"Because you got to say goodbye."


	3. Tobias:chapter 3

I'm awakened by the sound of someone beating on my door.

Irritated, I crack my eyes open, my head foggy from being thrown out of dreams of guns and serums, glancing at my bedside clock.

4:15 a.m.

Exasperated, I force myself to stand, rubbing my face as I walk to the door.

I glance through the peep hole.

When a known face meets mine, instant, unwelcomed regret surges inside me. I close my eyes and suddenly want him gone; that maybe this isn't real and he'll disappear. But when the knocking continues, I reluctantly open it. I stare at him, eyes narrowed, jaw taught.

"What do you want, Caleb?" I ask, my voice flat.

"I need to speak with you," he says, eyes appearing wider behind his frames. I try not to look into their familiar blue. "Clearly," I say.

"Four, this is important. Please."

Against my instinct, I open the door farther and beckon him inside. I take a seat on the couch and motion for him to sit where he'd like. But Caleb remains standing, his gaze not leaving me. Now that I see him more clearly, I notice his hands clutching a bundle of files, a few book clinging under his arm. I glance at them questioningly before I decide I don't care.

"Okay," I begin, crossing my arms. "What do you want?"

"I know you don't want to see me and I get it. I wouldn't want to see me either, but I have to show you this," he slaps the files down on the coffee table and begins rifling through them. "You told me not to make contact with you unless I had to."

"I said call, not randomly show up on my front door." This made me pause. "How'd you even know where I was?"

"Spoke to Christina," he says simply. "Then I confirmed it in a computer database, just incase she wasn't...uh...here," he instantly switches topics, which is in his best interest if he intended to say anything against Christina. He hands me an image of something I don't understand; of waves and bar graphs that hold no significance to me.

"I've been doing research on each serum used in each faction and I've found a continuous trend." He pulls out another graph for me to look at. "Now, each one has some type of component. A defect, if you will. After speaking with some forensic toxicologists, I thought it might be some kind of poison that if used too frequently can result in fatality." He hurries on. "Turns out, it's not a toxin. It's an expiration."

I glance at the sheets again, acting as if I understand what I'm reading, but I give him a dubious look.

"So?"

"That means anyone injected with a serum, over time, can become immune. That the serum can no longer affect people, kind of like bacteria, how if antibiotics are overused, it can actually benefit the pathogen rather than the person."

I let out a breath, trying to wrap my head around his scrambled words. "Again, so?"

"So, the factions are still running. Flawed and poorly organized, yes, but there are some people trying to put it back together again, but serums aren't going to be effective for administration." He retrieves a few more files. "And just like those antibiotics-"

"Quit with the analogies."

"-And just as them, when serums become ineffective, someone will-"

"Produce a new one," I finish for him, suddenly understanding his point completely. I try to think of the worst outcomes of producing a new serum, but the factions aren't a part of me anymore. I've moved on. Gone some place else. I've left that part of me behind.

"So what does it matter?" I ask. "We don't live there anymore. It's not out concern."

"The fact, Tobias," Caleb surprises me by using my real name, "is that if a stronger serum is not produced before the falling of the factions, the leaders will find a new way to start over."

It takes a moment to register his implication, but when I do, ice trickles down my spine, freezing my blood. My frustration piques, rage consuming me from the inside. "No," I demand. "No, they can't do that. You're not even sure. How would you even find that out? They'd have kept that under radar. The Factions wouldn't have chosen a leader like that- not another one."

"Maybe they've altered the Erudite serum," Caleb says. "Maybe none of the factions chose anyone."

I run my hands through my hair, my head swimming. I shake it, trying to clarify my thoughts. For a second, I almost can't take this. Not after all that's already happened.

"Why did you come to me with this, Caleb?" I ask. "I don't need it."

"Because," Caleb says, "You're the only one who I thought would listen to me."

That catches me off guard and in response, I glare at him. "Me? Listen, I don't owe you anything. Not my opinion. Not my time. Go talk to someone else about this," I hiss. "To someone who can actually do something about it."

He sits forward. "I've been to every place that won't kill me on the spot for even suggesting this!" he says, shoving his files back into their folder. He looks at me and shakes his head. "There's no one that will give it a second glance. People assume the Factions are dysfunctional; doomed. They don't think that there are still some out there seeking to dominate it."

"And what would you have me do?!" I shout, suddenly furious. Why would he show me something that he knows will hurt me, but also knows that I have nothing else to give for it?

"I'd be asking for your help." His words don't help my anger and I feel it rise inside me, a tsunami of regret and astonishment. "Help you?" I ask, my voice incredulous. "You came here thinking I would help you? Let me make something perfectly clear, _you're a traitor and you're a coward_ and you have no right to come here and ask me that."

"So you're going to let all those people die?" His tone is accusatory. "Innocent people who you know without even doing something that might help prevent it?"

I'm livid now. My vision turns red as I stare at him once more. "You want to talk about letting people die? You, of all people who stood by and watched as his sister took his place on death row?"

Caleb falters.

I glare, somehow gratified, at the broken expression in his eyes. He closes them and clenches his teeth, hands fisted by his sides. With shaky fingers, he retrieves a card from one of his pockets. He places it on the table. "We leave in two days, just in case you change your mind."

I momentarily fumble, the anger in me stilling as I realize what he's saying. "We? What do you mean 'we'?"

He gives me a reluctant look as he says slowly, "Christina is coming with Matthew, Cara, and I." He draws the words out carefully. Like he's scared of what I may do.

Even I'm scared at what I might do.

"_She's what?"_

"I told her maybe without you, she shouldn't come, but she told me she's sick of waiting around. She offered to help in anyway she could."

I grind my teeth. "You manipulative-"

"I only told her what I've told you," he replies, avoiding my gaze. I watch the color drain from his face. "All she's doing is accompanying us back to Erudite and breaching the system. We need to see if their working serum samples are adequate. If they're not, it proves the leaders will turn to phase two; cleanup."

"So you're just going to send her in there like some knockout mouse?" I can hear the anger sizzle deep in my voice.

Caleb shakes his head. "I didn't force her to do anything, Four. She chose to. Not for me, but for her. You should know that she'd want absolutely nothing from me. All she wants to do is help save those people."

I purse my lips, completely incredulous. "Don't act like you know her," I spit. "Don't you dare act as if you know what she wants. As if you understand what she's gone through. You know nothing."

"Fine," he says, arching his back abruptly before turning away from me, towards the door. "I can see this was a mistake. I'll leave you alone. You won't have to hear from me again." He places his hand on the doorknob, his eyes looking back on the card and then to me. "It's your choice, Four. Come or stay, it's up to you."


	4. Her: chapter 4

_"Is she ready?" _

_"Not yet." _

_"Vital signs?"_

_"Stable."_

Words. I hear them, but I feel slow, like it takes me time to piece each one together before they form a sentence. I don't know who the voices belong to. I'm never here long enough to know, because they continueously fade in and out as the dark waters take me.

Something inside fears the thought of water flooding my lungs, but the wandering has never been that uncomfortable. It just swirls and divvys, full of bits of light from a past I can't seem to recall. I see faces that hold no significance, gestures that hold no meaning, words that tug at some part of me, unknown.

But there's something deep inside, something that tells me I should break free of the current; pull away; fight it, but if as much time has passed as it feels like, I haven't learned how to let go.

And sometimes, I'm too scared to try.

* * *

There is something bright above me. A piece of the sun, swaying on a string, shining in my eyes. The sight of it leaves imprints in the back of my skull. For a moment, I wonder if I'm dead. But 'dead' means something both familiar and foreign to me at the same time, like the meaning of it is wrong. I think I should fear it, but I don't. I feel familiar with it, like our paths have crossed more than once.

Then the sun disappears and the waves roll in once more.

* * *

I'm lying on something hard. Something cold. That thought sends a jolt through me, realizing that I can connect that word to what lies beneath my fingertips placed somewhere at my sides. And unlike all the other times I've probably been here before, this time seems different. The air feels somehow cleaner and it smells of antitheptic and paint. I grab onto it as hard as I can, hold tightly to this moment of not being submerged in shadow. Of having a sense of where my feet, arms, and head lie.

"Signs still stable, pique in blood pressure, but nothing too severe," a neutral voice informs me. "Shall I give her an adrenaline boost?"

"That won't be necessary," a female responds from somewhere close by. "She'll come to soon." As it turns out, Girl Voice is right and sometime later, I feel a sensation that prickles slowly through my fingers, breathing life where the trail of it falls down the base of my body and to my toes. I try to locate the mechanism to open my eyes, but then realize that all I have to do is think it and they do. Once again, I'm glaring up at the bit of sun above, but I have a word for it now. It's a bulb.

"Welcome back," that female voice says.

"Welcome back, Beatrice."

**Yo, so please R&R for this because I'm excited to continue this since I have a few other chapters written and stuff, so the more who like it, the better. I'm trying to "feather" in the Allegiant events with this so I'm not changing what was originally written by Veronica Roth in Allegiant. Because then, in my brain, it opens a possibility for this to happen. **


	5. Tobias: chapter 5

I call Christina the next morning, unable to rest my mind after Caleb left. My entire body feels heavy, like his confession has literally weighed me down until I can barely stand anymore. Christina doesn't pick up at first, but when she does, I think she knows it's me.

"Hey," she says.

I sigh. Set my jaw. "Hey."

An awkward silence ensues. I try to think of something to say that doesn't sound accusatory, but she beats me to it. "I'm sorry, Tobias," she says. "I had to."

"Why?" I ask, my voice flat in an attempt to keep my tone under control.

"Because it feels right. I can't think of all those people dying for nothing."

"How do you know Caleb is even telling the truth?" I hiss. I bite my lip. "We can't trust him. You can't trust him. Please, just…we've both lost enough, Chris."

I hear her intake of breath on the other line. She's one of the few people who can relate to me on what we've both endured, but after I point it out, I feel like it's a low blow.

"Yeah, I get that. It's why I have to go," she urges. "I feel like I'm…living in vain. Have you ever asked yourself why us? Why we lived? Maybe this is why. Maybe we can help stop this."

"Or maybe we'll only make it worse," I say. The fear at the prospect of losing another dear friend tears at me from the inside.

"I'm sorry," is all she has to say. "I'll talk to you if"- she pauses. "I'll talk to you when I come back."

Then the line goes dead.

I grip the phone tightly in my hand, lowering it from my ear. Then I do the really immature thing and hurl it across the room. To my dismay, it doesn't break.

My entire life has been consumed by battle; of combat strategy, attack, correct aim and fire. I've fought in wars. I've killed people. I have a lot of blood on my hands, but there's a part of me that misses it. I miss feeling like I'm doing something, rather than living without purpose. I once wished for peace, but now, I no longer know what to do with it. I don't know what it means to me without certain people to share it with. I thought just living is honor enough to those who have sacrificed themselves for it, but I guess the point of battle is that it's always in repeat and that we participating in it can hope for a someday when we no longer have to fight. When those we've taught to fight no longer have to.

This one thought is instant. It's this one thought that makes my decision.

I pick up the card up from the coffee table and dial.

THE MEETING area is located on the corner of Bevington Blvd, which takes me exactly ten minutes to get there by train. I can take a car, but it's somewhat comforting to feel the roar of the metallic beast hurling down the railways again. It also feels surreal and a part of me is shocked that I'm actually doing this.

I jump off on a grassy knoll, landing roughly on my knee. Obviously, I'm a bit rusty, but I'll work on perfecting my landing later.

The sky today seems darker; bleak. As if it knows what we're going to do and decided to match the sky to the mood of things. Even this part of town holds with it a similar depressing atmosphere; walls coated in runny browns, green garbage bins overflowing with junk covered with flies.

I wrinkle my nose as I walk up to a particular building on Bevington; a dilapidated warehouse with a barn-like door. I'm about to pull it open when Caleb suddenly emerges, pushing it back and motioning for me to enter. I step around him, greeted by the aroma of sawdust and liquor. Shelves have been shoved to the far sides of the walls, stacks of boxes littered in random piles around the room. To the back is a short, dwindling staircase that has lost too many boards to make it safe and at the base of it sits Christina, Cara, and Matthew.

I'm rewarded with a bewildered look from each of them.

"Tobias," Christina says, standing up. "I thought you said you weren't coming."

I shrug. "I changed my mind."

She looks at me suspiciously; gives me a face I've learned to mean she doesn't believe me. "You're actually agreeing to this?"

I nod tightly. Christina was Tris's friend, as is she my own and something despises the thought of watching her walking into a potentially dangerous situation without me having her back.

I wonder if she hates idea of me coming, but then she smiles.

"Nice to see you again, Four," Matthew says, his voice full of uncertainty. I approach him and shake his hand.

"All right," Caleb begins, pulling out a small, flat screen. I watch as he turns it on and fiddles with a few buttons before the room is suddenly filled with a blue light. Out of the screen projects a large, three dimensional blueprint, extending about the width of each of us together.

"Now, the Erudite quarters have been relocated to the downtown Chicago area, which is to the south side of the gate." He wipes his forehead on his sleeve. "It has three back exits but only a single entrance. The building has a total of four stories, each guarded pretty much around the clock. It also has a built in pressure system which when activated will trick the alarm."

"Wow," I hear Christina say.

"The security system is always rebooted though at a single hour each week. That hour starts tomorrow at exactly 10:45am. Now, Matthew's job, as I have already discussed with him, will be to sustain the security system and break into the original database. He'll then transfer that computer information to my own and before the pressure system reloads, two guards will have to be taken down by Christina and Tobias."

"Do they have to be of the same weight?" I ask, feeling my level of caution rise.

Caleb looks at me, deciding. He says slowly, "a few more or less excess pounds should not make a difference."

"Should not," Cara breathes. "That's reassuring."

"But if you have to take down more guards, leave them there. A severe decrease in pressure will also set it off." Caleb continues, ignoring her. "If the alarm is triggered, and that's unlikely, you'll have a three minute timeframe between having an escape route before total lockdown."

"What if people see us without the alarm?" Christina asks.

Caleb bites his lip. "It'll be set off on command."

"Oh, awesome."

I look at the blueprint, suddenly unsure. "And what will you be doing during this rendezvous?"

"I will be locating the serum samples."

I give him a questioning look. "How?"

He pulls something else out from a bag and hands them to each of us. "Ear pieces."

"Will the Erudite be able to pick up on the frequency?" says Matthew.

Caleb shakes his head. "They shouldn't be traceable by computer unless retrieved and tested on. So, if any of you get caught, destroy it before they get it."

Christina and I share exchange glances, hers one of bewilderment, mine one of uncertainty. "You'll be doing this where?" she asks. "Outside in the car?"

"Oh no," Caleb says. He points to a section of the blueprint, at the base of the dimension. "I'll be beneath the building, using the transferred information to sort from and locate the serum."

Matthew crosses his arms, staring at the print wide-eyed. "I'm surprised it's transferrable data."

"Ah," Caleb holds up a finger. "Only during the system reboot because that is also the time they insure the security of their software and records. So you have a window, Matthew."

"And if we get caught?" I ask the question undoubtedly weighing on everyone's mind.

"I don't know," Caleb admits. "Tell them nothing or this entire operation is doomed."

"We should have a bigger team. More manpower," Cara says, but Caleb shakes his head. "Smaller groups are better for undergoing these kinds of missions. More heads run a greater risk of someone telling the Erudite we know what at least one leader wants to do."

"And who's the leader?" I inquire, narrowing my eyes.

I see the color leave Caleb's face, but he tries to play impassive. At first he doesn't respond, which only heightens my suspicion.

"Caleb, who are the leaders?"

He lets out a breath, one I didn't know he's been holding. He glances at me reluctantly. "That's just the thing, Four," he says. "No one knows who the leaders are."


	6. Her: Chapter 6

I don't know the woman.

If I'm certain of anything, it's that I don't recognize her. But she seems to know things about me, judging from the tightness of her lips and pleasant air that says she's happy to see me. It feels wrong though; artificial. I stare up at her, taking in her black hair pulled back into a neat bun, a painful contrast to the white jacket she wears. Her eyes are a deep brown, hidden behind the thin frames of glasses.

I'd buy the doctor getup if not for the application of lipstick and what seems to be a fresh coat of eyeliner.

"How are you feeling, Beatrice?"

Beatrice?

The name settles right, like it fits when it goes to me and I'm suddenly afraid why I can't seem to make a definitive connection between it and myself. The lady must notice my reaction, because she smiles reassuringly. "Oh, don't worry if you feel a bit hazy. Temporary amnesia is perfectly normal under these circumstances."

_What circumstances?_ I want to ask, but my throat seems to have swallowed my voice. I mentally curse.

"Speaking will come in due time. You've been out for quite awhile, so take this slowly," she says, making a gesture with her finger. "This is Idna. She will be attending to you with your rehabilitation as well as for any other of your needs."

The woman who I presume is Idna appears next to the doctor, her hair tied back in the same style, but her complexion is surprisingly darker. She gives me a smile, something that-for the first time-feels real and genuine.

"Well, I'll leave her to work. If you have any questions, Idna will be happy to answer them as best she can. I'll be checking in on you from time to time to clock your progress."

Before I have time to react, the lady disappears, leaving me with Idna. I still can't move in any fluent motion, like my arms have forgotten how to work. My muscles seem jumbled and confused in my own body and everything in my head feels slurred.

Idna momentarily disappears from view before returning back, cup in hand. She reaches down and hefts my head up, slowly tipping its contents back. For a terrifying second, I can't recall how to swallow and begin I choking, but then my reflexes kick in and I'm downing the water and requesting more. I empty three full cups before I feel satisfied, the ache in my throat now gone. Then I rest back down, trying to sort through my thoughts, wishing my voice would work so I can learn what's happening to me.

Why am I here?

Where did I come from?

Why can't I remember anything?

I try to think back as far as I can, before those dark waters took me. But all I see are white walls stained red and the sound of exploding gunfire.

"I know this must be frustrating," Idna says, interrupting my thoughts. "But we will start your rehabilitation immediately. Your body has had extensive damage done to it, not just physical, but your nervous system has taken a toll as well." She gives me another smile. "So let's begin." _

* * *

My face feels different.

It looks familiar to me and yet, not. I know the eyes, but not the expression in them. I know the lips, but not in the way they fall now, almost without emotion. I remember my face, but I'm not able to recall the feelings it has worn and what I have endured to know that it is truly me I'm seeing.

Blonde hair falls in dull locks around my jaw, ending just past my shoulders. My skin is also pale and it makes me feel ghostly, like it needs to see the sun again. I wonder how long it's been since I've been outside and I'm suddenly wishing I was. I stare into the mirror, the person's slight facial movements matching my own. I blink my eyes and so does she. I bite my lip and she follows suit.

I glance away, suddenly feeling overwhelmed, disliking the sight of a mirror, like it's wrong.

I've been awake for only a few days, but have already made progress. I still struggle to get words out and remain at the mercy of a wheelchair, but I can pick light items up with my hands and gesture with what I want. The mirror is supposed to help me mimic the things I see to what I do, but after a few times trying, I set it down and turn away from it.

Just then, the door to the small hospitalized room I was assigned to opens and at first, I expect it to be Idna. But then I see that it's a man, roughly in his thirties with cropped blonde hair and wide frames. In his hands, he holds a clipboard and a pen. Wasting no time, he approaches me and sits down in a seat which is near the entrance to the small bathroom, next to the cot I rest on.

His blue eyes meet mine. "Hello, Beatrice. How are we doing today?" he asks, as if he knows me and it instantly sets me on edge.

I nod to let him know that I'm okay, because I know that's what he wants to hear.

"Good. I'm Doctor Tunett. I'm this institute's psychiatrist, so I'll just be asking you a few questions to see how you're coming along." He flips a page on the clipboard.

"These will be yes or no questions, so just nod or shake your head for each one, all right?"

I do to prove his point and stare at him, studying his movements. My initial reaction is that I find it weird they're already sending in someone to diagnose my mental state. It's not like I've been up and about for very long and for them to sick a psychiatrist on me already is unsettling. But I try to appear neutral, taking in his white coat, black slacks, and expensive, polished shoes.

He looks back up at me. "So far are you feeling okay? Any nausea or severe headaches?"

I shake my head. He writes it down. "Are you suffering from any confusion?"

_ Well, yeah,_ I think, but I don't believe that's what he's referring to. I shrug.

"Understandable under these conditions," he says sympathetically. "Are your medications causing you any pain?"

_Nope._

I'm not really even aware of what I take. Painkillers, I assume.

His pen scratches on paper again. He pushes his eyeglasses farther up the bridge of his nose. "Are you aware of where you are?"

I shake my head. A hospital, I know, as of where it exactly is, I'm unsure. He provides an answer. "This is a rehabilitation and experimental facility located in the city. It's well qualified to help your trauma."

Okay.

The Doctor continues. "Do you remember anything prior to a few days ago?"

I take in the slight tightening of his hand and the hard look in his eyes and slowly shake my head.

_No, I remember nothing._

He gives me a quick smile, jotting that down. He goes on to ask me about the rehabilitation and whether I feel like I've made progress. He also asks questions regarding if I've suffered from any depression and conflicting thoughts "concerning my well being." I shake and nod for all his questions which are surprisingly extensive for such a short period of time and when he'd done, he stands to leave. Doctor Tunnett shakes my hand once before he walks to the door.

"I'll be doing weekly check-ups on you, Beatrice," he says. "So I'll be seeing you around." I try for a smile, but I can't manage one and he slips through the door quietly, closing it behind.

I lean back on the cot, suddenly feeling drained.I glance once more at the mirror resting next to me and close my eyes.

* * *

_ White walls. _

_White walls are surrounding me, blocking me, closing in on me. It smells humid and the air is thick, reeking of something that closely resembles formaldehyde. I cover my mouth with my hands, trying to block out the scent, but it does nothing. The smell seems to get worse and the walls seem to get whiter, until everything is a smear and I'm crammed into a small box. _

_For some reason, the feel of it offers a sense of comfort and on instinct, I splay my hands on either side of it, trying to break it open. But suddenly, my vision goes and an explosive sound rips at my eardrums, sounding off like cannons in the distance. _

_One. _

_Two. _

_Three shots later. _

_And when my eyesight returns, all I see is red._


	7. Tobias: Chapter 7

We leave for Chicago at 9:00.

I sit in the back seat of the cargo van with Christina as we pass over and into the city limits. Lights from buildings illuminate the surrounding areas, just making it visible to see the towering gate. It still appears the same, but the sight of it makes my stomach tighten and I glance away, making sure not to look at anything I might recognize as we approach the downtown districts.

I rub my hands together, trying to focus. It's hard though, since I didn't really contemplate what I was getting into until it was too late. The plan itself might not be enough. Parts might have been too hurriedly strategized, making room for a slip up. There are many factors we haven't even taken into account, such as the fact of what kind of people we are dealing with. Nor do we even have the slightest idea the identities of the very people we cannot afford to cross paths with. I could have slapped Caleb for not mentioning that part earlier, but I would probably have agreed to come anyway, so it's pointless, really.

I can't shake the unsteadiness I feel, though, the closer we get to the Erudite complex. Everything in me is wired so tightly, I feel like I'm about to snap.

"This'll be fun," Christina says, casting a glance over at me. Her black pants and dark shirt sends deja vu thrumming through me and it's almost hard to look at her. Once, it used to be the sight that was meant to mean strength and bravery. The clothing that meant Dauntless. Now, it just surfaces bad memories I don't wish to unbury.

"Yeah," I say, though my tone lacks enthusiasm. "Fun."

I hear the dirt from beneath us change from rock to tar, just as Caleb makes a few turns, pointing to some place in the distance. "There it is," he says.

A few minutes later, we park the cargo van in an isolated area we don't plan to return to, five blocks away from the headquarters. After-if- we make it back out, there's another car stationed just outside the gate, towards an area we'll be able to slip through.

I inhale deeply. 10:20 a.m.

We stay in the car for another fifteen minutes instructed by Caleb, just to insure a sighting of a white cargo van has not been reported. He's the first to get out since he will be breaking into the ventilation system that will branch off and, if his blueprint was accurate, will lead him to a duct in a wall that opens into a small, storage unit. From there, the information will be transferred to his computer by Matthew, that will enter by the front entrance one minute after the alarm is shut down.

Cara will remain as lookout and warn us of any incomings and reports.

I get out last, slamming the door gently behind. Next to me, Christina retrieves her gun and puts on her silencer.

"All right," she says, "let's go steal stuff."

* * *

10:43.

I stand exactly a block away from the Headquarters, Christina and I watching as Matthew walks the rest of the way. It's possible he's been given the hardest task, since his face is the likeliest to be seen, but he walks slowly, determined. Half way there, he retrieves his earpiece and we do the same.

"No guards present," he says and I see his head swivel around, but staying low so as not to be noticed by cameras if they're present. "They're not worried about the outside," Caleb's voice appears in my ear. "They'll be at every entrance and barred unit. Erudite is technically the head of the place right now, so someone walking in isn't going to appear too suspicious. So long as you stay on that floor."

"Okay," Matthew replies.

"Don't forget, you're asking the intercom for a background check on Rimorsa Decombre about possible revolutionary acts. She's been deceased for six months, but it should still be enough to allow you in. Confirmation takes seven seconds. That's your cue, Four to enter and take down the two."

I know, I want to say, but remain quiet, motioning to Christina to start moving. She secures her gun and scurries across the road, lithe and swift. I come up behind her, just as Matthew enters the first door. "Yes," his voice picks up in my head, just a few seconds later.

Christina and I pull up on the far side wall, easing our way closer to the back door. When the front is opened, it will trigger this one as well.

"I'd like to report a possible rebellious operation of an Erudite." Clothed in blue himself, Matthew's words almost seem believable. Smart of him to make it of their own faction, I think. It would be seen as something doubly threatening to them.

"Rimorsa Decombre, approximately seventeen years. Erudite transfer."

I hold my breath. Count to seven in my head. Just before I've reached nine, I hear a click followed by a buzz and then Matthew is in. I can't think. Everything in me just suddenly moves, and I'm darting towards the back entrance, slipping through just as the buzzer dies away. Instantly, a man clothed in army black appears before me, gun halfway to my face. Almost on instinct, I catch his wrist between my hand and twist, making him drop the gun before he can shoot and alert the entire place of us. I bring my knee up into his chest Once, twice, a third time. He doubles over for a second before sending a reactive punch to my stomach, stopping my breath.

I dive away and come at him from behind, wrapping my arm around his throat, my other twining behind his arms and holding him back. I keep him there, hearing Christina take on her attacker next to me. I see him send a fist across her face once and my vision instantly turns red, but she comes back in full force and hits him over the head with the hilt of her gun. The guard I have pinned loses consciousness and then we're moving again.

"Guards down," I hiss.

"Good. Dump them," Caleb says.

I hurriedly strip the man of his jacket and throw off my own, moving quickly. Christina does the same and when we're suited up into other people's gear, I drag the men back through the exit, Chris keeping the door open.

"Matthew, the next guard round is in four minutes. Four, stay stationed by the door until then. Escort him to the second interval."

I wait, trying to slow my breathing. Trying to look like a guard. My heart is beating fast, but I attempt to appear neutral; unfeeling.

"Now," Caleb says, and just like that, we're thrown back into action, turning on my heel to where Matthew is. He stands just down the corridor, stationed beside another officer. I grab him by the shoulder and give you a firm push in a general direction. "Come with me," I say, "for your complaint to be documented."

"Excuse me," the other officer says, freezing my blood. Before he say anything else, I say, "simply following orders, Sir," and continue down as sure-footedly as I can manage.

"Act like you know where you're going," says Caleb. "Elevator is on your right side. There, turn there!" I do and when the door opens, three other guards greet us. We load in, Matthew's face looking whiter, Christina stoic on the other side of him. I don't look at the other guards. My heart is racing so fast, I wonder if they can hear it. I'm expecting them to stop me any second; place their hand on my shoulder and demand to see some type of credentials, but then the door swings open and they get off. I let out a breath and press the glowing 2nd button.

* * *

There are noticeably more guards on the next floor as there had been on the second and my nerves are suddenly kicking it into overdrive, everything in me becoming hypersensitive as I walk with Christina and Matthew down the hall.

"Take a left," Caleb says. "Take your position by the front door and sneak him into the vestibule farthest from the right."

I comply, glancing down each hallway before escorting Matthew farther down. The place is all white, like really white. Each door I see is composed of glass, air-sealed and barred. I pass people on computers, all clothed in blue. Some look up to stare at me, others don't seem to even notice.

I lead Matthew down the rest of the hallway and turn left, walking to the vestibule occupied by a Thomas Marks.

"You've got fifteen minutes, Matthew."

He sits down at the desk and pulls up a file. "Yeah, fifteen minutes," he mumbles. "Fifteen minutes to break into an all-security database and then transfer the data to a laptop. I might need more time than that."

"You have none," Caleb says. "Hurry."

Matthew gets started, his hands flying across the keyboard. The people around us set my teeth on edge, everywhere full of activity that could potentially get us caught.

I count the seconds off in my head, the numbers making my fingers twitch.

"In his account," Matthew murmurs, eyes studying the computer screen intently. "Now to try bypass any other security measures. The likelihood of having more than one is probab-"

"Stop narrating," I hiss quietly, keeping my eyes straight ahead, standing in the same position I've seen the other guards; feet apart, chin high, hand resting on the butt of my rifle. My hands are slick, the sweat of anxiety and the heavy leather beading down my arms and the nape of my neck. In my head, I'm running over every scenario that could turn this into a game of cat and mouse.

"Eleven minutes, Matthew," Caleb says.

"Shut up." I can sense the fear in his voice.

"How we doing, Cara?"

She picks up after Caleb. "Clear," she says. "No sign of anyone."

My eyes drift around the room, slowly, instinctively, hoping I find no one staring at two armed guards standing in front of a cubicle.

"Patrol the perimeter," Caleb snaps. "Walk around and come back, in case you think people are getting suspicious." I nudge Christina's arm and she steps forward, me directly by her side. I take special note to avoid the guards standing in front of the barred areas and silently pray that's not where the serum samples are located.

"Eight minutes."

We walk slowly, calculative, glancing out the single window we pass, ignoring those that glance up at out approach. They don't seem to see anything out of the ordinary. My blood feels electrified and I try to breathe in slowly, moving around the cubicles. I think of alarms suddenly blaring. I expect to see flashing lights any second.

"Six minutes, wrap it up, Matthew," Caleb presses.

"I'm going as fast as I can," he says. The flurry of keys in the background are audible even through the earpiece. "I'm not breaking the code."

"Focus," I whisper, so low I can barely hear my own words exit my mouth. "Take your time."

"You got this, Matt," Cara joins in on the encouragement.

"Okay, okay, okay," Matthew mutters, "I'm...in!" he says. "Transferring...right...now." I hear a click. Caleb lets out a breath. "Head back to him," he tells us.

But as we reach the cuticle once more, one set of eyes turn to us, and it's like I can feel the question burning in his expression.

_What are you doing?_

I try to act impassive, but I know he's still looking at me as we stand guard.

"Transfer done?" Christina breathes.

"Almost," Matthew says. "Thirty percent."

"Four minutes before Thomas boy returns. "

I don't look at the guard, but I can still sense he's going to come over. He's going to come over.

I swallow.

I hear a curse. "Fourty five percent."

I know the guard's questioning is like a rippling affect. His staring brings on the curiousity of another set of eyes. A chain reaction. "Caleb, we've got to hurry," I say.

"Fifty two percent."

"Start walking," Caleb says. "Go down the next hall. There's a second elevator there. Go now."

"What about Matthew?" Asks Christina, her voice tight.

"In exactly two and a half minutes, Matthew, follow after them, but do it slow. Like, stand up and crack your back. Something that suggests intellectual exhaustion."

I purse my lips, feeling the adrenaline course through me, like fire in my veins. Any second now, our cover will be blown. I take a stiff step forward and start walking in the direction Caleb said to. The gun under my hand offers surpringly little comfort. Matthew's voice is shallow as he says, "seventy-five percent."

We reach the end of the hallway, staring awkwardly in front of the elevator. I'm about to reach out and press the button when I notice a coding system right above it, barring off the next floor. "Caleb," I say, the breath leaving my body. "We need a code."

"Matthew, go. We're at ninety percent."

I hear him stand in the back and a few seconds later, I glimpse him approaching us from behind. He stands next to us, his face bone white. I'm biting my lip so hard, I feel the taste of copper fill my mouth.

"Caleb, you have to hurry."

"Okay," he says. "It's transferred. I'm just pulling up the coding files, give me a minute."

"We don't have a minute!" I hiss under my voice, glancing behind me just as the same guard appears, his eyes narrowing in our direction. Caleb's breathing hard in my head. Or maybe it's me, I can't tell.

"I'm looking...It's...nine, five, six, six, pound, three, two." I jam in the code and miraculously, the elevator door slides open. I step inside and glance back once more, hoping the suspicion of the guard has lessened. But when I meet his fixed look, I know something is off. And just as the elevator door empties us out onto the third floor, the alarms come on, exploding in my ears.


	8. Her: Chapter 8

Two months have passed since the beginning of my rehabilitation program and compared to when I first started, my physically capabilities have increased dramatically. My voice has returned and I can walk distances without the need of a wheelchair, though a crutch still helps occasionally.

Doctor Tunnett and the lady I've come to know as Marsha Glas are frequent visitors, though I can't help but feel skeptical whenever they're in the same room as me. The air feels electrified; anticipated, like people here are waiting for something.

I'm also unsettled by how little they tell me and their vague answers to my questions they give:

_Where are we?_ In the city.

What city? _The only city that is efficiently being run. No need to mention any other_.

_What happened to me before this?_ You had an accident.

_Why am I here?_ Because this is the only place you have left to go.

I'm also not allowed outside. I'm kept to the limits of my room and the diagnostic's lounge which I go to every week, now that I can maneuver places on my own. I also have a single guard stationed by me at night, though I don't know why. I find it weird and invasive to have someone camping outside your door practically all the time.

It makes me feel caged, like I'm being suffocated.

Every day brings subtle changes, but it stays pretty much the same. Except for today. Generally I would be meeting with Doctor Tunnett and lately, I can sense something different in his behavior. A shift. His questions are redundant, but he treats each of them as if they're just as significant as the first time. I wasn't looking forward to our meeting, but then Idna informed me earlier that I wouldn't be going. Instead, she told me that today would be my first "test." I don't know what that means and for some reason, I have little desire to find out.

and escorts me out of the room. Iback chair, like one you'd see in a dentist's office, along with a wall of shelves, full of bottles that seem to be medications. Next to the chair on a metal platter, I see a syringe and everything in me pauses.

It's like I've just been socked in the stomach and I don't understand why I'm repelled by the sight of it.

I don't want to go in there. I don't want to. I can't.

"Please step forward," my guard says, his hand pressing lightly against my back. I resist, fighting his fingers, desperate to get away.

"It's all right, Miss," he reassures. "Just step inside."

"No," I say. My voice cracks.

"Just take a step inside, Miss."

"No!" My voice is harder now. Sharper. I just know that if I step in here, something bad will happen. Something bad always happens.

"Miss, if you do not step in, I will have to use force-"

"Do we have a problem here?" a person says, appearing in front of the entrance. He's also in white, which isn't surprising. Everyone here wears white. His grey hair is shaved close to his face, highlighting dark, petulant eyes. He narrows them at me. "Beatrice, hello. I'm Doctor Rellings, the lab technician. If you will come in, we can get started."

I shake my head furiously at him, my blonde hair slapping me in the face. "No," I say again. "No, I.."

"We understand your mind is still in a delicate state," he says. "But this really is important. I assure you, it won't take too long and then you'll be free to leave."

It's as if my body rebels on its own accord, remembering something I can't seem to.

The doctor sighs. "I'm sorry to have to do this, Beatrice. But this really must be done. Dax, can I get some help over here?" In the corner of my eye, I see another guard approach. He and my guard grab my hand and roughly escort me in. I yank back, but it does little good. I'm small and they're twice my size in both height and width. They lead me over to the chair and shove me in, forcing me to sit. I take one look at the syringe and the fear it sparks is startling. The doctor retrieves something and reaches for the sides of my chair, tying my hands down with secured straps. I suddenly feel like a lab rat, soon to be poked and prodded.

"What is this?" I hiss through my teeth.

The doctor purses his lips and picks up the syringe. "It's absolutely necessary. It shouldn't hurt. I'm not here to cause you any harm, it's just a test."

_ "For what?"_

"Your durability and progress," he replies. "It will be simple and quick. Lean your head back."

"No."

"Dax." The guard lays a gentle hand on my forehead and forces it to the cushion. Small, circular things are pressed against my temples. "Just think of something else," he says.

When I feel the plunger go down, things get hazy and I try to reply, but my words stop.

_I have nothing else to think about,_ I want to say. _All I've known is this._

* * *

EVERYTHING SEEMS blurry. Liquefied, like I'm looking underwater. Faces drift back and forth and I see the doctor and the guards, not quite focused but still there, watching me. I see a clipboard in my peripheral vision; hear the pen as it scratches along the surface of it. The best way to describe it is woozy. Nausea churns my stomach and I close my eyes, hoping for it to pass.

"Thank you, Dax. That will be all," I hear vaguely. I search for more words, trying not to slip beneath the waters again.

"Stable, no severe nerve damage. Focus impaired," a voice says above me. I think it's the doctor and force my eyes to open. I am greeted with a small, tubed light, glaring down at me. It drifts from one corner of my eye to the other and interested, I follow it.

_Doctors do this,_ I think. Maybe this is normal.

I don't feel normal, though. I feel off. Slow and weird. But gradually, things begin to drift back into focus, first blurred and then fuzzy and then somewhat clear. A tingling sensation ignites the inside of my body, like I just ate a bunch of spicy food. There's a acidic, burning taste in the back of my throat.

"Beatrice," the doctor says and I force my attention on him. "How do you feel?" he asks. There's a light in his dark eyes I didn't notice before. It takes me a minute to speak. "Weird," I say. "I feel weird."

"And how about now?"

"Dizzy." He gives me a smile and, judging from the tightness of his lips, he is a man of very few of them. "That's good," he says. "That's very, very good. That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"It wasn't ...pleasant," I say, almost reflexively, but I still can't manage to lift my head all the way.

"Miss Glas and Doctor Tunnett will be very happy with this level of progress. You should be proud," he says, obviously ignoring the jab. "Andrews, if you wouldn't mind giving this file to Miss Glas, it is essential that she have it, all right?"

My guard nods, grabs the outstretched papers, and exists the room. I watch him leave, suddenly having a name to put to his face.

The doctor turns back to me. "You might want to wait for whatever dizziness you feel to pass before you stand." I still feel like my head is swimming and I want to ask him to untie me, but a sudden noise strikes through the haze, freezing me on the spot.

I see red flashing lights and watch in a blur as the silence shatters.


	9. Tobias: Chapter Nine

"Caleb, where is it?!" Christina yells next to me as we run out of the elevator, no longer having to worry if our cover is blown. It decimated now. "I'm trying to locate them," he yells back, his voice now frantic.

"There's a lab on that floor, go to it! Down the hall, first door on your left."

We run down the hallway, our guard façade now broken. Almost simultaneously, Christina and I retrieve our guns, barrels pointed, trigger ready. "Caleb, we're almost there, do you have them?" I yell, the sound of voices picking up behind us. I throw myself around a corner, nearly slamming into the wall.

"The code!" he shouts, "the code is seven, four, three, pound, pound, one, eight, one!"

I turn the last corner, stopping short at the air-sealed entrance. I mentally repeat the number, punching it in. A red light flashes green and the vestibule door opens. "Christina, wait outside," Caleb orders. "He needs a keycard to get back out that way if it closes. There's another door, but I can't find the code for it."

Christina nods, stationing herself in front. I waste no time and hurry past inside. The room itself is categorized by shelves of glass, vials and tubes filling the walls. Each one is colored differently, and labeled differently. I don't even know where to look.

"Caleb," I shout, "where are they?!"

"I'm pulling it up now, they're..."

The alarms are splintering, but the echo of the walls allow me to hear a noise, coming from the other side of the room. I pause, thinking of guards; men with guns on the other side of the shelf. I raise my own and pivot slowly, trying to glimpse what's around the shelf.

In the corner, I see a man clothed in white, standing above a chair, his hands working hurriedly to untie something. I edge my way closer, and know instantly that something is very off.

Because what I see can't be real.

There's a girl, sitting in the chair, and at first, I can't understand. I think it must be some cruel, cosmic joke and the noises around me are abruptly cut off, leaving nothing but a faraway echo in the back of my mind.

No. I think I speak it out loud.

It can't be.

I stare at the girl, feeling as if the floor has disappeared beneath me. Like nothing makes sense anymore, and everything is just wrong. Impossible. And my entire body is suddenly burning, burning, burning.

_Please,_ I beg, as she looks back, a question in her eyes. The weight of seeing them is crushing me, turning me to dust from the inside out.

_ Please, not again_.

I close my eyes and wait for her to disappear; to return to the caged memories I've stored her away in, wrapped in chains that I refuse to unlock. But the sight sends them spiraling back and it's like the years resurface, the pain and clarity of them all sharp and tormenting.

I see kisses shared under the roar of a chasm.

Her small frame against mine, talking me through my fears.

A blur of grey as she falls into the pit.

A small hand held up to the glass, pressing against my own.

The body of a short, blonde girl, lying lifeless on a metal slab.

I meet her eyes again, and in them, I see a brilliant flame that is anything but weak. A flame that could set a city on fire and all I can do is stare, whispering her name over and over again in my mind.

_Tris._


	10. Her: chapter 10

I stare at the man.

I look into his eyes, that even from this point, I can tell, are a dark color; brown or blue, and he does the same. A part of me wonders why he is. Looking at me. In the heat of alarms sounding and him aiming a gun, I suspect he's not supposed to be in here.  
Something tugs, deep in my chest, but It's not fear. On the contrary, warmth spreads over me like hot water, swirling in my stomach and diving into my blood. There's a name for his face, I know, and suddenly, I just want to hear it. I need to, because I'll see things in that word; feel things I can't remember I did. In him, I'll find some answer.

Doctor Rellings works above me; unties my hands and shoves me to my feet. My head swims and my body sways, traces of whatever he put in me still taking its toll. He tries to push me to the door, but suddenly, I'm grounded, looking back as the man, my heart doing weird, floppy noises in my chest.  
Something in me knows him. Where my mind has lost it, my body has preserved the feeling of it and I just _know._

Someone shoves me and the connection snaps. I turn to meet his eyes again, but the doctor pushes me, latches onto my hand pulls.

"No!" the man calls out behind, just as we stumble to a door across the room. The doctor jams in a code and the door clicks.

He swings it open and forces me through and all I can see is the man reaching out to me, splashed with red light that reminds me of blood. His body connects with the door just as the doctor slips in, pushing me towards a narrow, dark hallway.

In the corner of my eye, I watch the door shutter, beaten by the man on the other side of it. Then the hallway opens up and we turn a corner. The last thing I see is a glimpse of a hand pressed to glass before I'm lost to the shadows once more.


	11. Tobias: Chapter 11

"NO!" I shout as the man in the white coat yanks her to her feet. Her eyes fall from mine and I'm suddenly hurling myself forward, desperate to feel her, to touch her, to prove that this is real and not some sick stimulation. I can never reach her in the stimulation. I'm always just seconds late. Just seconds before she is taken from me again.

I'm almost there. The room isn't huge, but everything plays in slow motion, my movements lingering as the man pulls her to a door and dials in a code. Then the door is thrust open, she is pushed through, and the door is closing

closing

closing.

I slam my shoulder into it, beating my fists, smashing buttons, anything. I press my hand against the glass, watching helplessly as her figure grows dim before disappearing altogether.

And I notice I can't hear the alarms anymore. Not because they've been turned off, but because everything in me is screaming.

"No, no, no!" I barrel against it, again and again, but the door won't budge, plated in metal and on full lockdown. My strength drains away. Gone in an instant and I suddenly don't care if I'm caught. What I do care about has slipped through my fingers once more, gone so quickly, I wonder if she was even really here.

"FOUR," a voice booms in my ear, but I can't focus. Can't think. Nothing in me is listening, every part centered on getting past this door.

Then someone grabs my arm and whips me around and I'm looking at Christina, her eyes boring into me, wild and frantic. "Four, we have to go!" she yells.

"No."

She curses, raising a finger to her ear. "Caleb, I need the numbers again!"

"Back row, shelf A, located in a separate glass compartment!" his voice screams back. "Code for entry is one, six, five, nine. Samples are on bottom shelf, serial numbers 20030 and 20031."

Christina follows directions instantly, darting over to the back wall, jamming in the code before skimming the small compartment, isolated and almost unnoticeable. The glass slides open and her fingers start skimming over the beakers and vials. I hear curses as she grabs at a few of them, stuffing the tubes of liquid in her bag.

"Doors closing in seven seconds," Caleb says. "Total lockdown in thirty."

"C'mon!" Christina pushes me and my vision snaps back into focus, like a light being turned on in the dark. I propel myself forward, down the shelved room and to the door we came from, the slide beginning to close. "Go!" I say, shoving Christina through. I follow, hearing the sealing of the door shut behind.

More noise ruptures. I hear the stomping of feet, I hear orders being shouted over the alarms, I see the white walls now bathed in spiraling red, and I know we're trapped.

"Get us out of here, Caleb!" Christina shouts, the guards rounding the corners. But before he can reply, I grab her hand, my body knowing what I'm about to do before my head does. I start running. I don't head towards a door. I don't try to find a way around the in pour of guards. No, I retrieve my gun, aim at the glass wall, and fire.

The breaking of glass is somewhat mesmerizing, rippling along the surface of it until it splinters down like water. I throw myself into it, feeling glass land in my hair and scratch along my face.

Then we're flying.

Falling.

The world tunnels and my vision goes dark for a moment. Pain erupts from my back and my leg, but I ignore it, pushing up from the carting truck we land in.

"Go!" I shout at Christina again. She throws herself over the side and I do the same, sprinting after her as doors burst open behind us. The sound of bullets echo behind me, splitting my ears, making them ring. I duck, watching the bullets ricochet off the buildings we pass, disappearing as we dissolve down a dark alleyway.

Christina hisses the directions at me for the location of the car and we don't stop running, even as the sound of pounding feet and open gun fire fades away in the distance.


	12. Her: Chapter 12

The air is charged. The world is red. Men clothed in black are filling the halls, raising their guns.

Then I hear something shatter.

The heavy weight of feet slapping against pavement is enough to reach even the room I've been led into, similar to the one I've been sheltered in for the last couple of months. There's a metal sink located in the corner, a metal tray full of utensils and syringes, and a massive box that appears to be a generator of some kind. In the center of the room is, of course, a lay back chair which is where I sit now.

I watch Doctor Rellings pace back in front of me, trying to steady my heartbeat that has climbed into my throat. Sweat glistens visibly on his forehead and he runs his hand through his hair. Once. Twice. He wipes his palms on the front of his white smock before shoving them into the pockets.

"Who was that?" I ask, feeling the questions burn in the back of my throat. I'm silently hoping for a name. A piece of something hidden in my past that will identify the man in the lab, because I think I know him. Knew him.

The Doctor casts me a wary look. "Illegals, Beatrice. Imposters. Nosy outsiders that are completely unimportant."

"Well, what did they want?" I ask,

"That's none of your concern."

"Who was he?" Now I'm just desperate, being fed vague answers that aren't even answers; just replies that will be enough to keep me from talking more.

"He's no one," he says. "Somebody hired to break in. This is actually quite common. People that dismiss responsibility and authority and decide to do what they want, regardless of law."

Something beeps, interrupting my thought. The doctor lifts his wrist to his mouth, a light flashing around it.

"Are they in custody?" he asks, his voice unnaturally steady.

A grainy voice answers back. "No, Sir."

The doctor grits his teeth. I notice his hand is shaking, just slightly. "Has it been confirmed what was taken?"

A moment of silence.

"No, Sir. We believe to be missing S. samples, but we have not identified which ones."

The doctor falters for a second before he composes himself, so quickly I wonder if it was just my imagination. His tone suddenly turns dark. "Find them," he barks. "Each of them. They are a liability to the system. They are-" his eyes lift to meet mine and his next words, I know, are meant for me. "They are dangerous. Rebels. Outcasts. And if what they have taken is not returned, innocent people will die. "

His words echo in the back of my head._ Innocent people could die. _

I stare at the doctor and he stares back, his jaw taut, hands still trembling. The light on his wrist blinks off.

I bite my lip, suddenly feeling more unsure than I ever thought I'd been in this place. "So," I say, my voice hesitant. "Are you saying that guy is a killer?"

The doctor gives me a solemn nod, but I don't feel it in his eyes. "They are selfish, Beatrice. They take from us and stop what we are trying to do, and that is to protect this city."

I fold my hands in my lap; stare into them. For some reason, I can't connect the word "killer" to the man in the lab. I didn't see him as something dangerous, I thought of him as something comforting and even though I try to imagine him as what the doctor makes him out to be, all I see is a hand held to glass, reaching out to me, accompanied by a haunting feeling that I've seen it before.


	13. Tobias: Chapter 13

**Dah! I keep forgetting to write these important little intro snippets at the beginning, author updates and hellos and thanks and such. Sorry. Here I am to rectify that misstep. Any way...yo. So, this is the 13th chapter of my Convergent idea. Reviews are appreciated and definitely encouraged and I really hope you like this. :)**

**Oh, and thank you all again for reading. Really, it means a LOT.**

* * *

"What on earth was _that?" _Christina snaps, crossing the belt over her waist and jamming it into the lock.

I purse my lips, feeling numb. Dazed, the image of the girl still swimming around my head. Was it Tris? Each second I seem to grow more unsure, but then I think of those eyes and everything in me just knows.

"You just...you just stood there, Tobias," Chris says. "Was it the room? Was it too much like..."

_Like the room Tris died in?_

I shake my head, meeting Caleb's eyes in the review mirror. I glance back at Christina, running my fingers through my hair. "I saw her."

Her eyes soften, her anger lessens, and I know how it sounds, but for some reason, it makes me mad.

"Look," she says. "I know it was hard. To be honest, I felt that, too. I couldn't get it out of my head-"

"No," I interrupt. "I saw her. She was there. She was actually there."

I said it. Now it's official. I saw Tris.

Both Matthew and Caleb let out audible breaths. My chest constricts, knowing how crazy I sound, but also knowing that they have to believe me. As impossible as it seems, she's back there, alive. Not dead.

"I think you imagined it, Four," Caleb says quietly. I shake my head, my hands fisting tightly as we ride past the city limits. "I'm telling you, she was there. This man had her tied to a chair and then he took her out the back door, the one you had no code for."

"Four, I think you didn't-"

"Why didn't you give me the code for that door?" I suddenly roar, the realization that I was just there, feet away from her, hitting me like a punch to the stomach. "She was _right there. _We need to go back," I say, my voice desperate, pleading. "We need to think of a way to get her out of there. They were _doing _things to her."

"Four," Caleb repeats, his tone hard. "Tris is gone. The room might have released a serum after the alarms went off. Something that made you confused."

"No!" I shout. "I wasn't seeing things. There was no stimulation."

"Christina," Cara pipes up, casting me a pitying glance that only spikes my anger. "Did you see anything?"

Christina sighs and shakes her head. "No, I'm sorry."

I grind my teeth. "That's because she was already taken when you came in."

"Tris is gone, Four," Matthew says, almost reluctantly. He stares out the window. "She died and she isn't coming back. It's not possible."

I curse out right. My body is shaking, shuddering and I'm trying to stay calm, but I'm boiling. Turning into fire. "I know what I saw."

"Do you really?" Caleb challenges, raising his eyebrows. "I mean, do you even _hear _yourself? You walked straight into a lab that held _serum composites_ and you're telling me you saw _Tris? _Four, you saw her afterwards. You know what happened. You saw her-" his voice falters and through clenched teeth, he whispers. "You saw her body."

The word makes me stiffen and I repel it.

I can't believe that. Not again. I can't lose her not after I just found her. It was too real. No serum, no simulation. There was nothing that could have made it that clear. "I know, but that doesn't change this. You have to know that she. Was. There."

Caleb stops the car. He hits the break and it screeches to a halt and he turns to face me. His eyes are gentle and the look in them makes me sick. "So you're saying a man took her into another room."

"Yes," I snap.

"Did she fight?"

I stop, remembering. She paused, like she was missing something, but she didn't go at it like Tris would have. Not like _my_ Tris would have. I hesitate. "No," I say, finally say. "she didn't-Like, I said, I think they did things to her."

Caleb turns back and gasses the vehicle again, lurching us forward. "That doesn't sound like Beatrice. We both know she would have fought, regardless of what they'd done." The finality in his tone claws at me from the inside and I turn to Christina, urging her to believe me. But I know she doesn't. If I were her, I probably wouldn't believe me either. Her eyes meet mine.

She shakes her head, just the tiniest bit, and it's that small action that is enough to plant the tiniest seed of doubt in my mind.

I don't say anything more on the way back and when we reach the warehouse after discarding the guard gear in a hidden field, I jump out of the cargo van and begin walking. I can feel their eyes on me as I leave, but it's as if I can't look at them because I know what I'll see.

Pity. Sympathy. Sorrow. More pity.

It makes me feel weak, like they expect me to break, but I won't. I haven't yet.

I jump another train, leaning against the side of it, cool metal splayed against my back. Seeing her in that sterile room surfaced all these memories, like a flood gate bursting open, many including trains much like this one. Maybe it's one she rode on. Maybe I'm standing in the same place she once did.

I rub my eyes, trying to clear my thoughts. My blood is still roaring in my ears and some morale part of me is wondering if there will be men clothed in black, standing at my door. Waiting.

But when I leap back onto to the road that eventually ropes back towards my complex, there's no one there. Though the night is silent, I still hear gunfire raining behind me and the sound of shattering glass.

Back in my home, I lie down on the bed, knowing I can't sleep, but wanting to find relief _somewhere. _I want to tear out those memories or put them in a box I can save to look at later when it isn't so hard, but I can't. Memories are what we carry. Our dreams and our burdens. Our gains and our losses. And no matter how many times I wish they were gone, I know I'd lose myself too if they were.

* * *

_Shadows. All I see are shadows, pouring over white, bursting through the doors and coming towards me. I pull out a gun, aim, and fire. Over and over again. But no sound comes from the barrel. No bullet holes line the blinding walls._

_I'm about to shoot again when one of the shadows suddenly turns white, morphing into a man in a coat._

_Next to him sits a girl, her hands bound, her eyes blank. _

_"Tris," I say, trying to lower my weapon, but it's as if my arm has solidified, held there by some hidden force. __"Tris!" I scream, but she doesn't look at me. She's looking at the doctor, watching as he unties her. _

_ I try to call out again, but abruptly, everything blurs. Fire crawls up the walls, shelves of vials are pushed over, smashing and smearing glass tubes, dribbling liquid. I hear guns fire behind, in front of, all around me, but nothing hits. Panic rises in my throat and I look back to Tris, expecting the man to be leading her through a door, but instead, she lies on a metal slab, her eyes now closed._

_The doctor is gone. The shadows disappear. The white walls turn clammy as I stand alone, staring at the girl who was alive only moments before. _

_"You saw her body," Caleb's voice appears in the distance, echoing, like he's at the end of a tunnel. "She would have fought." _

_Then Matthew: "She died and she isn't coming back."_

_Tris is gone. _

_She isn't coming back._

_You saw her body. _

_The words spin around me and I hold up my hands like I can protect myself against the reality of them. From them meaning something to me. But the words only get louder and my fear piques and the last thing I hear is my voice bouncing off walls that aren't really there, __catching my own eyes in the reflection of a now empty embalming table. _


	14. Her: Chapter 14

A week passes, or at least, I think it's a week. I don't have a clock in my room to read me the day, but it fits in that amount of time.

Since the break in, I've noticed a difference in the people's behavior. Anxiety and pressure fog the area and stifles the words of those I talk to. Doctor Tunnett still visits me, but what used to be only once a week has now been three times, like he's on an invisible deadline.

I haven't seen Marsha Glas for some time and a part of me doesn't want to. There's nothing about her that I can find is authentic and distrust surges up inside of me every time she's around. I also get more needles in my neck than I like, but luckily, the dizzying feeling I get is fading more and more each time, like I remember how to fight my way back to my body. I think it's the reaction they were hoping for, because Doctor Rellings seems just a bit more pleased each time.

At the end of the week when I meet up with him again, the atmosphere has shifted. Mostly, because Marsha Glas is there, looking at me. The smile on her lips belies the hard look in her eyes.

"Beatrice, I 've been told you have really improved," she says, standing at the front of the room that Idna has led me into. It looks like something that would hold a conference, with a stationary glass table lining the center and four transparent chairs set around the perimeter. I look at it and then at Doctor Rellings and then back to her. That smile is still there, like her face is grafted that way.

I know something is important if she's here. I have a feeling that she's pretty much the head of the place.

I nod. "Then I guess I have."

"Yes, yes you have," she says. "And now that you have regained your strength, it is time for you to do something for us."

"And what's that?"

She smiles again, the expression taunting. "Beatrice, I don't suppose you can recall the life you led prior to arriving here, can you?"

She knows I don't. She knows, but I still shake my head. "No."

She clasps her hands together; gives me a look that is a try for sympathy. "Beatrice, you must hate not knowing. Who you are, what you've done. All your contributions." She walks towards the table and pats one of the chairs opposing her. "Come. Sit."

I listen, but my steps are hesitant.

"I know it's a burden," she continues, "to have all these unanswered questions, but I can give you some answers" Her tone suddenly shifts. "I'm the only one who can."

Her eyes snap up them, back to the doctor that stands a few feet away. "You are excused, Doctor. No meeting will be necessary between the two of you today. The testing is complete."

The doctor nods, casting me a look before disappearing out the door. I listen as his footsteps fade away.

Then I look back at Mrs. Glas. "You know where I'm from?"

"You're from this city," she says. "Located no more than fifteen minutes south."

"Do I have family?"

She nods. "A brother. Your parents, though….I'm sorry."

I hear nothing behind her apology. To me, they just sound like words, spoken in respect to the ghosts I don't see.

"What did…" _What was I? What did I do? Can I go back? Will I ever know?_

"Beatrice," she says, leaning forward. A strand of dark hair falls into her eyes and only this close up do I notice the lines beneath them. "I don't mean to drudge up your past and use it against you, but you should know the person you were. Because here is your chance to change it and to keep from becoming it again."

I swallow, the questions still there, on the back of my tongue. "Who was I?"

Her voice is eager when she replies, "you were a soldier. You didn't follow the rules because you didn't care. You were reckless and because of that, people died."

That catches me off guard. I feel something swell in my chest. Disbelief? Fear? But for some reason, it don't seem impossible to me. I wonder of the things I have done and for a second, I'm grateful I can't recall any of them. "What kind of soldier?"

"A rebel," she snaps. "A person who lacked responsibility and got involved with the wrong missions. That's why your parents died," she continues, sighing like it's the saddest thing she's ever heard. "They died for you, because you put them in that position."

I sit there for a moment until what she says sinks in. Then I shove away from the table. "Why are you telling me this?" I ask. _I don't want to know. _I want the words to mean nothing to me, but they don't feel completely foreign. It's hovering at the edge of my memory, next to to man, close enough to feel, but too far away to see.

Mrs. Glas sighs again and leans back in her chair. "I'm telling you this so that you know. So that you can make a choice."

I scoff at that and glance away, suddenly unable to look at her. I want to deny it. I want to believe that before this, I was better. This woman has nothing on me. She can be lying. But something churns in my stomach and I know what it is. The raw emotion that has the ability to tear a person apart.

Guilt. Guilt is hard to manipulate and it washes over me until I feel like I'm choking. I push the hair out my face, my voice catching as I say, "What did I do?" I'm suddenly desperate to know. I wait for her to tell me something so ludicrous that I can _actually_ accuse her to be lying. That the feeling settling inside me isn't real. That the truth of it is all a joke.

"You've killed people, Beatrice," she says, her eyes never leaving my face and I see something darken in them. "You have blood on your hands and here's your chance to wash it off."

My eyes are tearing. _No, _I tell myself. This woman is a liar. A fake. A stranger who knows as much about me as I do about myself. "Who?"

I expect a list. The ticking of names off her fingers, but her gaze on me is steady, emotionless, empty as she says, "you shot your own friend."

The words roll with the others in my gut, twisting with nausea as I stare at her, waiting for the contradiction. The punch line. Anything. But it doesn't come. What comes is a short, considerate pat on my hand and I'm already too numb to pull it away from her.

"Do you see what I'm doing for you, Beatrice? You can change all that. Become someone better. It's not too late."

"What was his name?" I ask, discarding her words, trying instead to put a face to the identity of "friend."

She pauses, looks at me, deliberating. Then her lip curls and she leans forward once more and folds her hands on the table. "Will. His name was Will."

I don't dismiss the name. It pulls at someplace inside me, stirring up a scene and in my head, I see a flash of white as a gun goes off, aimed at a dark shadow in the distance.

_It's not too late. _


	15. Tobias: chapter 15

**Thanks for reading this far! Reviews appreciated :) (I'm not done, though).**

It's been a week since the Erudite break in and still, no one has showed up, banging on my door. I know my face was seen, but maybe my identity was no longer kept in the database. Or maybe my name is still swimming in the system, but my location is undetermined. I wonder if anyone I know has been interrogated. I wonder if swirling lights are going to appear down my street tomorrow.

Christina hasn't contacted me either, but I don't think she's still mad. I think she's giving me space, like I need to clear my head; think straight. It makes me feel inferior. Like, something's wrong with me and as the week passes by, I think more and more each day that something might be.

Caleb, Cara, and Matthew continue to work on the serums, but they've also been quiet. Every time the phone rings and it isn't them calling for an update, I get put more on edge. There's something in those vials that will determine the plans Erudite has; plans that could destroy hundreds of people and I don't even know what's being done to find out their secrets. Maybe my "accident" has Caleb thinking I'm too mentally unstable to handle it, but I think he'd send word if that were the case. But by now, my skin is beginning to crawl from lack of an update and I'm growing restless.

Mostly, I keep in the apartment, trying to make progress on the things I was doing prior to stealing Erudite serums, but I'm too distracted. I can't sleep, feeling my grip on reality losing its hold.

At night, I'm still kept awake by white walls and exploding gunfire.

* * *

The next morning, the phone rings.

I jump to my feet, the covers of my bed twisting around my legs as I reach for the phone on the counter. I don't even look at the ID number before I answer. "Hello?"

"Tobias? Hey," a familiar voice says and I try to squash my surge of disappointment. I bite my lip.

"Hey, mom," I say. I also try to ignore the glint of suspicion I detect in her tone.

"I've been thinking about you, lately, How've you been?" she asks.

I exhale, thinking through the haze clouding my head. "I've been...all right, I guess."

_lie. _

"Do anything exciting lately?" more suspicion.

"Nope," _lie. _"Just some work, how are you?"

No reply comes. All I hear is a deep breath as her light and almost carefree-voice dips down a few notches. "Oh, you know, just heard of an invasion down in the Erudite complex. Thought that was strange."

I gnaw on the inside of my cheek. I run a hand through my hair, trying to look calm as if she were standing next to me. "Huh. That is weird. First disturbance in like, what? Six months?"

A beat of silence passes.

"Tobias," she breathes, dropping her façade. "What were you thinking?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." _Lie. _I feel the hope of not having to involve her in this disintegrate.

She curses. "Let's see, medium build, dark-eyed male. Brown hair with a female accomplice that looks familiar to me. Who, by the way, conveniently disappeared through the gate. How many people do you think first came to my mind when reading this?"

"Why would you even know?" I ask, leaning my back against the counter. I sound tired. "Why would they tell you?"

"They didn't," she hisses. "I have my own infiltrations, which is not even the point,"-An irritable sigh. "What were you trying to do? Get yourself caught? Executed? Tobias, it won't be long before they figure out who you are. Your name is already known here and soon, someone is going to give it to them."

"They won't want the Factions to know about it," I say. If I'm convinced of anything, I'm convinced of that. "Erudite wouldn't risk having this information exposed. On the contrary, if they come after me, it'll be to keep _me _from _talking_."

"And what is it they're trying to do?"

Momentary gratification settles over me that she doesn't know. Though my mom and I have been on relatively good terms to date, I still found a few minutes in my day to worry if she already knew and decided to keep it from me. My relief is instantly followed by guilt.

I shake my head, though she can't see it. "I won't tell you over the phone. Call me later and we can meet."

I hear Evelyn grind her teeth. "Okay, but just keep a low profile now."

I'm about to hang up the phone when a beep resounds through the speaker, marking another call. I switch lines.

"Four, it's me. You need to get down here," Caleb's voice says. The suddenness of it makes my stomach lurch. "Downtown testing labs. Now."

* * *

I reach the testing labs located at the far end of the city in a half hour, by train. Again. It's a small, secluded building connected to the west wing of a private medical facility, generally reserved for personal study of doctorates. I assume, then, that that is how Caleb got permission to use their equipment.

I head towards the front doors, the greying stone blending in well with the heavy clouds hovering above. I grimace at the smell of rain and enter the facility.

Unlike the labs in Erudite, these are less sterile-looking. Not as white. Not as secure. The ground is stained and unappealing and instantly more comforting to me. Only a few people mill about, scanning clipboards or walking in groups, some lounging in study rooms, but none of them look at me, too consumed in their own work. Caleb gave me the door number and the location of where to find him, Cara, and Matthew which is at the end of the hallway, behind door 6A.

When I reach them, I wait to be buzzed in, glancing warily at the bar code suspended above the handle.

I knock.

It buzzes and I shove it open.

My eyes instantly lands on the equipment littering the room, two single rows of metal tables, each with a handful of chairs around the backside of them. Microscopes are stationed in front of every one. Towards the front of the room sits a desk and next to it, a few larger machines that I can't fathom the significance of. A low humming emanates from each of them, larger lenses protruding from the base of it, dwarfing the other machines in comparison. Sitting in front of one of them is Caleb, glaring into the neck of the lens. Cara stands beside him and I do a double take when I see her hand rest on his shoulder and something catches in my throat.

Matthew on the other hand, is seated at one of the tables in front of a microscope, but he's looking at me, his lips pursed. I notice that Christina isn't here.

"Nice to hear from you guys," I say. "Did you find anything?"

Matthew looks away. Cara retracts her hand. Caleb glances up. "Two of the three serums were identified," he says, taking off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Which I would say is progress, since this is significantly more advanced since their last batch, which I took a lot of time to study after..."

_After Tris._

I cross my arms over my chest, ignoring the sudden pain that pinches my stomach. "Good, what are-"

"The first, 20030," he begins before I get to ask, "is actually a toxin. It works as a type of poison, if you will. It would have to be distributed by direct contact if it were to have an effect," he puts his glasses back on and glances back up at the screen I can't see from here. "The second one seems to work as a kind of suppressant, like an idea squasher. It screws with brainwaves, targets certain nerves." He wriggles his finger in front of his head to demonstrate. "Our only delay now is figuring out the third one."

"There's a third?" I ask. "I thought you only gave us two serial numbers."

"I did. Seems Christina got a little hasty and picked up another by mistake."

"Okay," I say, walking towards him, to the machine. "So what does it do?"

Caleb sighs. "That's where this sample gets complex. It really doesn't add up."

"I know," Matthew says, crossing his arms over his chest. "I didn't know what to make of it, either."

"To make _of what?"_ I interrupt. My own voice sounds anxious. "What is it? Do you even know what it does?"

He gives me a hesitant look, licking his lips before he says, "I know it's a death serum."

I feel the blood rush to my head, his words confirming the original theory. "So, they are going to wipe everyone out," I hiss. It's not a question.

But Caleb shakes his head, adjusts something on the machine. "No." He twists knobs at the base of it. "No, it's not like that. There's a disparity between the components I found in the other death serum compared to the original and it really doesn't add up."

"Do you even know the effects of it?" I ask, staring down at him. I adjust my footing. "Like, what it does?"

He points to me. "_That _is not the question. I know what it does, I just don't know what the purpose for it is. I mean," he runs a nervous hand through his hair, "the effects of this causes severe nerve damage. Memory loss, temporary disablement. But those are more aftereffects. The targeted effects cause the temperature of the body to drop. It also constricts the muscles, so then it looks like..."

He trails off. His eyes are suddenly unfocused, like he's just been hit by some great epiphany I can't see.

"_oh." _Caleb's face freezes and the look of horror I see churns my gut.

_"What?" _Cara and I ask simultaneously.

_"Oh,_ oh. I don't know why I didn't see that," his hands fettle around the microscope. Then he stands and stares at something beyond me. In my peripheral vision, I see Matthew get to his feet and walk towards us. "This...It made no sense because all it really did was cause the muscles to flex and the body temperature to drop..."

I stare at him. "_What does that mean?" _

"Shut up," he snaps at me, his lips tight. I'm momentarily taken off guard, staring at the bright glint in his eyes. "Those are the effects. Not the end result." He lets out a shaky breath. He doesn't answer for a minute and when he does, I'm on the verge of strangling him.

"I don't think it's a death serum," he says, closing his eyes. "I think it stimulates the body's response to it."

I meet his eyes, waiting for the meaning of his words to reach me. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying, Four, is that if a person were to be injected with this, their body temperature would plummet." His voice piques and his voice is rushing. "It would tighten the muscles and shallow the breathing. It would make them cold and stiff to the touch."

_Cold to the touch. _I keep staring at him, suddenly feeling stupid.

He takes a deep breath, his tone taunting, piercing when he murmurs, "People would think you were dead."

At the knowing, unwavering look I see in his face, everything in me abruptly turns cold, freezing my blood, turning my bones to ice. I stare at him, waiting for him to correct himself. To change his implication, but he just keeps looking at me.

I shake my head. "No."

"Four, think about it," he says. "Why would they need this? The date isn't recent. It hasn't been used for some time. I thought that it was a simulation you must have seen, but with this..."

I narrow my eyes at him. "No," I say again. "I get what you're saying so just stop it."

But he doesn't. I see Matthew's and Cara's questioning stare as Caleb rolls on, the gears in his head turning, clicking wires, lighting everything up. "Just try and guess, _what would they do with this?" _

"Stop," I say again.

"Who could help them infiltrate the system with a serum and not be affected by it, Four?" he presses, gripping the back of the chair like he needs the support.

I shake my head again. My heart hammers inside my chest and my breathing suddenly feels labored.

"Who would the Erudite need to use this on?" he asks. "What person would benefit them more alive than dead?"

_"Enough."_

"_Who do we know, Four?!" _

That's it, I pull back my fist and let it fly, connecting with the side of Caleb's jaw. His head jerks back and he clutches it, but I don't care. I don't care. In this moment, all I want to do is tear him apart.

I see Cara reel back and Matthew's eyes go wide, but my entire body is focusing on annihilating the one beneath me. as the truth of his words sink in.

"You're telling me she was alive?!" I roar. I pound him again. And again, the sight of red not nearly as appealing as I want it to be.

"I saw her. I saw her in the _morgue_. You reminded me of that, Caleb. I touched her hand and you're saying she was _alive when I did?" _

"Yes."

"I spread her _ashes!" _I scream.

Caleb sputters. "They weren't hers."

I want to hit him again, but Matthew suddenly grabs me from behind, pulling at my raised hand. I stumble away from him; clutch at my head, begging for Caleb's words to stop their rampage through me.

She is here. She never left and the memory of me walking away from her is tormenting, eating me from the inside out. I left her in that room. I left her alone, behind. I gave up, trying to fight through every day when I could have been fighting for her.

Matthew pulls Caleb to his feet and I know he says something, but I don't hear it.

All this time, she's been alive. Breathing. And I saw her.

I _saw her. _


	16. Her: Chapter 16

I'm in the chair again.

No surprise there, really, but I'm getting tired of being treated like a lab rat. I'm not up for being probed with more needles and dizzy spells, because by this point, I'm already squeamish. I've driven myself to a snapping point. It's like I'm slamming myself against the insides of my head, trying to force the person I was out, but terrified to see who she really is. I try to squash the feeling that Mrs. Glas's words about me rang true, but every time that name drifts around my head, the guilt comes rushing back.

_Will. _

I wish I felt something else in that name. Friendship, familiarity. Anything. But there's nothing. The name is about as hallow as me and I hate myself for that. I also find my thoughts returning to the man in the lab, which I have no answers for. Was he there when I shot Will? Did he help? Did he try and stop me? Or did he just stand by and watch as I brutally gunned down a person I supposedly cared for?

That, of course, would be cowardice. But there is absolutely nothing there that I can associate to the stranger. He didn't look like a coward. Even putting that title in the same category as him sends a chill up my spine because it just feels _wrong. _

I rub my temples again, as if I can block out the noise of exploding gunfire.

Sometime later, the door opens and in is wheeled a wide, blank screen. Behind it stands Mrs. Glass, remote in hand. Two white-coated men push the screen until it stands in front of me. Then they leave with nothing more than a silent nod.

I try to hide my grimace at the prospect of being left in here with her, but then I make the discovery that I don't care. She can hate me. I want her to hate me. Because if she does, it gives me a reason to dislike her back and to debunk all her theories of me slaughtering people.

But if she notices it, she pays no attention. "Hello, Beatrice, how are you feeling today?"

"Peachy," I say, my lips curling. "What do you want?"

She waves her finger at me like a dog being scolded and turns the remote to the screen. "I thought it would be beneficial for you to catch up on some history. Recent history, I might add. I encourage you to watch closely."

She walks over to the wall and presses something and the room suddenly dims. The screen blinks on.

I want to ask her something but she raises a finger to her lips. I turn back to the screen. At first, there's nothing. But then pictures start flitting across, of men with guns and people kneeling on the ground, clothed in grey. I stare at the video, as men and women are knocked down; as families are torn apart; as kids are led away from their parents.

Then there's a distinct popping noise, rippling out, until they become more frequent. People begin to fall, others cry out. Grey merges with red.

"Turn it off," I say, my voice frail to my own ears. I try again. "Turn it off!"

But she doesn't. the picture just turns to another area and shows me the same thing on repeat until I have to squeeze my eyes shut to keep from looking.

"This town is broken, Beatrice," Glas says, her tone echoing through the gunshots that continue to play out before us. "You can help them. Help bring back what this city needs."

"And what is _that?" _

"Protection." She raises the remote and presses a pause button, which freezes on the image of a girl. It's grainy, but I can still make out the side view of her face in dark clothes, with her blonde hair tied behind her back. I squeeze my eyes harder.

"Here, you basically have a breakout of a minor civil war," Glas continues. "Do you have any idea how damaging it would be if it all broke out?"

I say nothing.

"You can help with this. You can help stop this massacre you took part in."

What I wouldn't give to throw these words back in her face. To have something to say that proves I wasn't this...this...killer. But there's no single part of me that doesn't believe I'm capable of doing something that cold. For all I know, I could still be the same person she's determined to see me as.

"This city needs guidelines, Beatrice. Only ones that we can provide. The leaders of the other Factions are...selfish. They don't have the courage to do what this city really needs done. And the only person who can help us with this, is you."

I bite back a scoff. "What could I possibly do for you?"

She smiles. "Help bring back the city to how it used to be. Better. Efficient. But without the inconvenience of other Heads. They only get in the way."

"So you want to take over the city?" I ask, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. I don't even understand why this bothers me.

Glas shakes her head. "Let's not make it sound so harsh. Why don't we try and focus on what you viewed instead." She presses play again. The screen unfreezes from my unfocused figure and moves on to herds of other people, broken and bleeding.

I keep my eyes on my hands.

"This needs to end, Beatrice. You are...strong in many _unnatural _ways, but here's your chance to help the lives you didn't hesitate to destroy."

_Lie. Lie. Lie. _Please, _just let it all be a lie, _I beg. My stomach heaves. I did not destroy anyone, I didn't. I didn't.

As if to fight me on it, the screen glimpses my figure again, weaving with the crowd, stoic and stiff.

I bite my cheek. "I can't do anything for you," I say. "I can't fight. Don't remember how to...shoot," the last word catches. "There's nothing I can offer for this."

"But that is where you are very wrong," she says, her tone full of conviction. "Combat is not required. Shooting is not required. All I need is your..._endurance." _

_"For what?"_

She smiles again and the look I detect is the same glint you'd see in a child's, after getting something she wants. "To take back the city."

After she knows she's already gotten it.


	17. Tobias: Chapter 17

**Wow, originally, I only planned to make this fanfiction a few chapters...guess that won't be happening anymore because I definitely need to reunite Tris and Tobias. I'm getting there, though! I shall persevere! **

"We need to get her out of there," I hiss. There's so much ice in my voice, I can barely recognize it.

"We will," Caleb says, his eyes still glazed. He holds a tissue up to his nose, but I can tell it's still bleeding. There's nothing in me that regrets it, though.

"No." I run my hands through my hair and pace like a madman, unable to stand still. Unable to think of anything other than Tris in that room, alone. I don't know what's even being done to her and the thought of them touching her makes my head pound. After this, I'll kill them. I'll kill them all. "We have to do something _now." _

"Four, we have to come up with a plan, first," Cara insists. "You can't just walk right in there and save her."

I curse, turning my glare on her. "And what? We wait? You don't know what they're doing! They could be hurting her. Or using her and we should just stand around here and waste time in order to think up an idea that _might work?" _I practically spit out the last words.

Caleb lowers his hand. "Did she _look _hurt when you saw her?"

Instantly, the image of her sitting bound in a chair resurfaces and it takes all my willpower not to throw something. I recall that lab coat hovering over her. The desperation of getting her out of the room. The blank stare in her eyes as she looked at me.

I squeeze my eyes shut. "She didn't recognize me."

"Are you sure she didn't want to just give you away?" Matthew asks.

I scoff and give him an incredulous look. "I'm not even going to answer that."

"Like I said," Caleb interjects. "The serum would have caused nerve damage, which can lead to memory loss. It's quite possible she doesn't know who you are. Or any of us, for that matter."

I turn away from them. My entire body feels like it's convulsing, but when I look down, my hands are steady. "I'm not going to wait," I say. "If you think I'm going to stay here and let them keep hurting her, I won't."

"So then what's your plan, Four? Break into the building again, which will have double surveillance and guards, find Tris and just sneak her back out? No, we just need a little time to come up with something and I promise, we will get her out."

"It could be too late by then!"

"They want her for something!" Caleb yells. "You honestly think they would have gone the lengths they did to save someone that they _don't plan on using?" _

"And what about after that?!" I shout back, swerving around and pinning him with narrowed eyes. My stomach twists and I clench my hands so hard, I feel the nails biting into my palm. The pain is a welcomed sensation. "What happens when they're done with her, Caleb? We don't know when that will be and we don't know how far she's already gone. You owe her. You owe her everything and instead, you're just going to _wait-" _

_"She's my sister!" _Caleb suddenly screams, his cheeks blossoming red. "She is_ my_ sister and I will get her out, but unlike you, I won't go around it carelessly. I'm going to make _sure _she get's out, but I will not give myself away and risk losing the chance of ever finding her again!"

His shouts bounce off the walls, so loudly that people passing the door stop and glance through the glass. When they fade away, no one says anything. Caleb and I continue to stare at each other, as if daring the other to speak.

"I know you regret things, Tobias," he says, finally breaking the silence. His voice lilts. "I know you've dealt with a lot and I know you deserved better. I also know that I am the last person who deserves anything, especially your forgiveness, but believe me, I've got more to regret. I wasn't the one who shot Tris, but I didn't save her either. I let her go and that is a choice I have lived with every day and every day I have regretted it. So if you think for one second, that _I _won't do everything I possibly can to get my sister back, then you're wrong." His eyes never leave my face as he says, "I promise, even if it takes my own life to do this, we will get her back."

"Then do it fast," I snap. "Because she's running out of time. They're using her for something, Caleb. I don't know for what. I don't know what they plan to implicate her in, but it's not too hard to guess. This is on _your _head, but if you don't come up with something soon, I won't care anymore."

I turn away from him and pull out my cell. I know I need to call Christina and tell her, but I suddenly can't form the words. How do you tell someone that their best friend they believed to be gone is still alive?

Caleb says from behind me: "If you act on this, Four, you might just be the cause for never getting her back."

I bite my lip and glance at him once more, the anger in me roiling. "You have three days and then I'm finished with your plans."

"And if you're caught?" Matthew challenges, taking a step towards me and crossing his arms. "You know they won't let you live. Not if you're a threat to breaking their progress."

I smile, but there's nothing in it. "Like Caleb said, if it takes my own life, I'll get her back."

"This is ridiculous," Cara says, pursing her lips. "You don't have to threaten a suicide mission, Tobias. We'll find a way together."

"I hope that's true," I say, pulling open the door. I pause before leaving.

"I already lost her once. I won't lose her again."

gghg


	18. Her: Chapter 18

"This is Charlotte Strong, executive leader of Candor. She outright supported the break outs and raids that have ravaged this city for months, including the one that occurred here a little over a week ago."

Mrs. Glas's voice drawls out over the conference-like room, steady yet demanding attention. I sit in the first row of metal chairs, staring at the same screen I watched people bleed on. But instead of the alleyways and surveillance tapes of people being gunned down, there's now an image of a short, blonde-haired woman, wearing white. Information branches off of the left, along with the Candor symbol hovering in the corner.

A few other people occupy the other chairs, heads drawn together, calculative, like they're absorbing every word that Glas says. I can only presume they'll be helping me do whatever Glas wants me to do, which I'm still unsure of. I know it has something to do with the city, but I have no idea what I can possibly help them with there. Maybe I just don't _want _to, but then I think back on those videos of people screaming, falling, dying and everything in me urges to _help._ To save them. To protect them from whoever is jeopardizing their safety.

And so far, as much as Glas unsettles me, I've been given no reason to believe anything else.

"Miss Strong is thirty two and married with a single son," Glas continues. "However, she's shown little outright concern for her Faction's security and has refused to cooperate with our extended propositions. She has proven to be an incompetent leader of her people and I see no reason why she is to be included in the reestablishment of Chicago."

"And what is the POA?" a man in the back asks.

I see Glas's eyes narrow in his direction. "Would you disagree that any careless person with little to no regards for their own district deserves to be in charge of lives?" she asks. I can practically feel the man curl in on himself from here. "Do you honestly believe that a person of that nature deserves to be where they are?"

"No," he replies instantly. I don't even think he considered her question. But those are the kinds of questions she asks; ones that _aren't _to be questioned.

"Then you would agree that person should be removed, correct?"

"Yes."

"And if they refuse, as Miss Strong already has, should that be allowed to stop all other progress into recreating this city's security measures?"

A shake of the head. "No."

Glas smiles. "So, would this plan of action's only final resort be to eliminate those who refuse to abide by our arrangements? It seems to me that an unfair and disagreeable leader who lacks the drive to sustain her own Faction, yet refuses to allow another to take over, should not be there. Would you agree with all that?"

"Yes."

"Well then," she says, finally breaking her gaze from the man to look back up on the screen. "That is our POA. We already know who will and who will not meet our terms and that is Charlotte Strong of Candor and Nathaniel Beugard of Abnegation. Amity, it would seem, has yet to finalize their decision."

"And what decision is that?" I ask before I can stop myself. I cross my arms over my chest as her eyes meet mine. I can feel the heat of them from here. "The decision to temporarily dismount from office until order can be restored by Erudite. Our faction advances are greater than the other factions and frankly, the only one willing to give the effort and fix what has been broken for too long."

"What if Amity doesn't?"

"Collateral damage can be a product of disagreement, Beatrice," she says. "However, if this is not resolved one way or another, there wont be any collateral, there will be a massacre."

I stare at her for a moment, trying to see past the red lips and sallow cheeks. I try to glimpse intentions, but all I catch is the expression on her face; determined and unyielding. I fidget in my seat. "So you're just going to take out two leaders?" I ask.

She sighs melodramatically. "Tell me, Beatrice, what would weigh on your conscience more heavily? Two liabilities that have had their chance to cooperate and settle this matter, or hundreds of innocent people that got no say?"

I break her gaze and stare at my lap. "How do you know their motives would have gone awry?"

I expect her to be angry at my questions, but to my surprise, she laughs. Or maybe scoffs. It's the kind of sound you'd make when you know someone is being ridiculous. "You've seen the film, Beatrice. The raids and break ins now should be enough to convince you. BUt if not, I have other records and videos if you wish to watch them..." she presses a button on the remote and Strong's face disappears, replaced by scenes of burning fields and broken windows.

"No!" I shout, squeezing my eyes shut. I can't look at it. I can't stomach it. I can't think of people dying, lying on the ground like felled trees.

The audio vanishes and I glance back at the screen. Miss Strong's face is there again, but what looked like a smile on her before, now looks more like a frown.

"I understand, Beatrice, that you are still adjusting. I can sympathize with that. But all I'm trying to do is restore order to a city that is suffering. You can help with that, but it is your choice. Unless you want this to continue...Unless you want more people to die." She clicks the screen to another image, of a middle aged man with a thinning hairline and grey shirt. He's not smiling and I can only guess that it's Nathaniel Beugard.

"You have the right to decide, Beatrice. If you help us, we can do the same for you. Give you answers and the things you have lost. Because this," she motions to the screen, "can either start a war, or you can help end it. But out of all our equipment and military aid, you are our greatest advantage."

"So, you're going to move in after you take out these leaders?" I ask, cursing my voice for trembling, just slightly.

Glass leans forward, as close to me as she can get with the distance that bridges us but it feels like she's right there, breathing in my face. That same lingers at the corner of her lips, even as she says, "Oh, I won't be the one removing them from office. That will be_ you. _Because you're the only one who can do it without starting a war."


	19. Tobias: Chapter 19

"Hey, I know you think that what I saw was a simulation, but it wasn't. I really did see her. Christina, Tris is alive."


	20. Her: Chapter 20

_Popping noise fill the air, first one, followed by another and then another until the world is exploding. My vision is white and I can't see where the bullets are coming from, and I shield my face as I run. Even though I can't see anything, I can feel the ground beneath me. It turns from a hard metallic to gravel as the gunshots rain around, endless. I try to reach for someone, but I know I'm alone. _

_Alone. Alone. Alone. _

_It's the clearest feeling I've had, like it's something I can touch. Something I can wear. I don't like it, but I'm almost glad of it; because if I'm alone, no one can get hurt. _

_My breathing labors, ragged and excruciating. I can't breathe, I can't see. I can't do anything but run and pray I'm not spotted. _

_But then something knocks me off my feet. Well, it actually slams into my back, so hard that the pure force of it shoves me to my knees. Pain follows it; as brilliant and sudden as the gunshots still ricocheting off the walls around me. My shoulder is on fire. _

_I think I cry out, but my voice sounds muddled. I grip my arm tightly to my chest, trying to see past the haze that turns the white in my vision foggy._

_I blink rapidly, yelling at myself to get up, but the haze doesn't leave. It fills my vision, staining the white until everything is a startling red. _

_Until I can't see anything else but that color._

_Until I'm drowning in it. _

* * *

I'm supposed to kill the leaders of Candor and Abnegation in less than a day. At 9:30 tomorrow morning, I'll be leaving here for the first time to attend a Faction meeting in the heart of the city, posing as a representative of Glas since she will be "contributing to other matters."

But before that goes down, there's something else I have to do first, and it lies not in the heart of the city, but beneath it.

I was told after the meeting that took place over two days ago the vague points to the plan.

Some of Glas's men are already infiltrating the sewer system of Chicago, where two emitters will be placed under the center of the city. The last emitter will be located in one of the abandoned subway tracks. I am to arm the first in the sewer system which will also work as the trigger to the rest. Each is supposed to omit a kind of chemical that only I'm unaffected by. I guess that's what Glas meant when she said that I was their greatest advantage.

Since the chemical is only temporary, I'm then to attend the meeting directly afterward, where the signs of the fumes will be in effect approximately five minutes after I arm it.

Which would have left no person other than myself (apparently) capable of actually completing the intended mission.

"Why didn't you arm it automatically?" I asked her at the time.

She'd only responded with a slight sigh. "I couldn't risk complications with automated emitters. They can be rather complex compared to a modern detonator, which is constructed in a highly different way and this isn't a mission I plan to play insouciant decisions with."

"How about masks?"

"The chemical can be absorbed either through respiration or by contact with skin. It can penetrate practically any material. It took over a year and a dozen of the best chemists to perfect its structure." She smiled. "Plus, men done up in suits isn't exactly being covert."

I didn't really ask anything more after that.

But I did spend more time with video feeds. Mostly because if I am willing to commit acts against someone, I want it to be justified and though Glas doesn't exactly seem deigned to be completely trustworthy, the continuous reports of burning buildings and herded families offer a fairly compelling case.

I'm also pretending that I don't really care about getting my memories back; about learning the truth about myself, but that's an ugly lie. It's like half of me is fighting with the other; at war with each other. I want to know the good things about who I was; the people I helped, if any. The pure intentions of my past. But you can only meet the good of something if you're also willing to see the bad of it as well, and I just don't know if I want to see the _wrong _parts of me.

Because what if that's all I was? What if I hope to find some shred of light in the dark of my choices and it's not there? What if there's nothing good about me?

I think that's what I fear the most. That like my dream I wake gasping from, my past is not grey, or black, but red. Red with the people I hurt. Red with the pain I caused. Red with the blood I spilt.

Red with the blood I have yet to spill.

But if I hurt someone, shouldn't I suffer the consequences of it? Can't memories serve as penitence? Shouldn't that boy I shot, my _friend _that I _gunned down..._don't I owe it to him to remember and live with knowledge of what I did?

I sigh and roll over on the side of my cot, pressing my face into the pillow, as if I can drown out the voice inside my head, telling me over and over again that I _owe_ it.

That I owe it to remember my ghosts.

* * *

_9:15am. _

The numbers on the first clock I've ever had in my room burn against their small screen, stinging my eyes. I'm sitting on my cot, still, after a pretty sleepless night, clothed from head-to-toe in black.

Black shoes. Black army jeans. Black tank top and sweater. Even black gloves. But underneath, I wear a hearty blue suit buttoned over a white undershirt, complete with matching flats in my black pack slung over my shoulder.

Heels were originally suggested due to my short height, but I attested to them until the flats were optioned.

I bet I'll be the shortest non-representative there.

When 9:15 turns to 9:16, the door to my room opens and a single man steps inside. He's also clothed in similar gear, but unlike me, strapped across his chest rests a gun.

_Shooting will not be required. _

"Come with me," he says, abruptly turning back on his heels and walking out. I stand on and when my legs wobble, I stiffen my shoulders and follow him. He leads me down the sterile hallway before boarding an elevator. I watch his fingers dance over the tabloid of numbers before we get in and descend to the next floor. Or maybe it's the bottom floor, I don't know. Sweat trickles down my neck and legs and the two layers of clothing is suddenly hot and heavy. I try to not let my discomfort show as I trail the guard off the elevator and down another hallway.

White walls. White floors. White lights.

The lack of color now reminds me of my dream.

The guard stops in front me then and I almost run into him. He turns to me and in almost a robotically leveled voice says, "put these on." He hands me a pair of black lenses.

Before I can thoroughly inspect the thin, pliable piece in my palm, he starts walking again, turns another corner and hits in another code. A barred door lifts and then he's pushing open the one past it.

Bright rays suddenly flood the room, until I can't see anything. My eyes burn and I squint, instantly lifting the piece to my eyes. It sticks instantly, like some kind of suction around the rim of my cheekbones, blocking out the painful glare.

"Clear," the man says to something on his wrist I can't make out. Then he grabs onto my arm and pushes me forward, towards a military grade truck. I think I half expected this morning to be buzzing with activity with the impending plan, but to my surprise, only a few other guards litter the front, two flanking the front of the door I walked out of, another sitting inside the truck.

We waste no time walking towards it and he motions for me to get in the back. It's not exactly a short truck and I'm somewhat embarrassed when I try to heave myself up and realize that I can't. The guard hefts me inside in one fluid motion before getting in himself.

The back of the vehicle is loaded with only a few wooden boxes and I'm again struck by the lack of weapons and materials.

But then again, they won't be coming with me. I'll be going in alone.

The truck revs beneath me, breathing to life and I settle against the back of it, trying to swallow my surging fear.

What if this is wrong? What if I can't do it? What if something doesn't go according to plan?

In my peripheral vision, I see the guard in his stoic stance turn his eyes to me and he holds something out. I lift my hand to his, feeling something small drop in my palm. "Put this in your ear," he says.

"What is it?"

"Communication device. Puts you in direct contact with Glas."

I wrinkle my nose at that, but shove it in. It feels foreign and weird and I abruptly don't like the thought of something metal or inhuman in my head. "Okay," I reply.

"Beatrice," a voice pipes up, sounding as if right by my ear. But it's not. It's coming from in my ear.

Glas is inside my head.

" I will be walking you through the arming process and will direct you to the location of the emitters," she says, "and I will know your precise location with this as well, as it is simultaneously a tracking device."

Great.

"Okay," I say again, feeling my tongue go dry. I'm hot and thirsty and my hands won't stop shaking, but the most invasive thing is hearing someone's voice this close. It makes me want to pull it out, but I don't.

"Are you ready?" she asks.

I swallow and close my eyes, knowing that this is my last chance to say no. Such a simple word, yet still capable of tearing apart people and plans and practically everything in between.

But I can't. I've seen the feeds. I've watched lives bleed out, turning the white of their innocence to red like my dream.

I need to know all that I've done; I need to know who I have hurt. Because I know that I've hurt people.

And the feeling settling over me now; the fear of doing the wrong thing, is like going against some inner instinct; doing the exact opposite of what the person before me would have done.

And that's somehow comforting. Because maybe what this girl thought was wrong, is actually right.

**PLEASE R&R! Sorry if some of this isn't scientifically correct. I'm a writer, dang it, not a scientist. (-That reference was too good to pass up.) Anyway...Please tell me what you think and I DO plan on having Tris and Four reunite soon! **


	21. Tobias: Chapter 21

I can't sleep. I can barely manage to close my eyes, I'm so wired. Everything in me is tight, like the smallest bit of tension will cause me to snap. It's as if all the emotions there are have decided to come and pummel me from the inside out.

The brightest ones, though, the ones that drive me, are anger, directed at those who took Tris, who kept her away from _me, _who did things to her that I can't even guess the result of. And then there's fear. I'm afraid at who I'll see when I find her. I'm terrified that they've already drowned the memory of the girl who saved Factions. Who saved lives.

But I can't really afford to let that thought manifest. This is Tris I'm talking about. It doesn't matter how far she'll be when I make it to her, because she will find a way back. And if not, then I'll show her the person she was. I'll help her find the way back to herself again.

At least, that's what I tell myself at 4:45 in the morning, staring up at the ceiling as if can give me some great epiphany I feel like I'm missing.

But the walls stay silent. The only noises that fill the air is the distant sound of a train and my own echoing heartbeat. I sigh inwardly, trying to calm it.

This will be the last time I'm in this room. Which is no big deal since it was kind of lonely anyway. And if I do come back, I'll have someone else with me. If I don't, it means I died trying.

Because today is the third day. I gave Caleb three to come up with some kind of plan to save his sister, which apparently he hasn't gotten around to do yet. I think I've called him nine times in the span of two and a half days, but I'm in far too much of a hurry to be concerned about my pride.

He, of course, said little, trying to find a way to infiltrate the system again, have Matthew hack into the mainframe, try to find some sign of what they'll be doing with Tris to determine an ideal ambushing spot. Nothing came back, though. But I don't need detailed blueprints on a computer to tell me where to find Tris. They'll probably be taking her farther into the city at one point. And if she'll be there, I'll be there, donned up in Faction clothing, posing as nobody with a face that's probably tacked up all over in the Erudite headquarters.

And if I'm spotted and shot at, at least I know I'm on the right track.

I haven't really given any detailed accounts regarding my "plan" to Caleb yet, mostly because he'd blab it to Christina and she's already voiced her fair share of ideas for getting her best friend back. But I don't want to tell her, mostly, because she'd want to help me and I don't want to implicate her in my underdeveloped and deeply flawed plan. I don't have time to work out the details. I just know that when I see Tris, I'll find a way to reach her and I need to do that without worrying about anyone else.

It all sounds too juvenile. Rash. But if a girl who everyone believed to be dead can somehow be alive, stuck in a place that keeps her from remembering what she's done and who she is, I think I can manage to get close enough in the hopes of finding her alone.

Wishful thinking, perhaps, but finding out that you have another chance to be with a person you've been grieving the death of for _months _ can put you in that kind of mood.

I shove up from the bed and swing my legs over the side. I snatch up a bag stashed beneath it and grab my gun from the nightstand. I check the barrel and put it in halter I attach to my waist. I grab a second one and do the same thing, hiding it behind me, under my shirt. I bring a few knives, pull on a lightweight jacket and roll up a pair of grey clothes I bought for this.

Yesterday, I was no one. Today, I will be Abnegation again.

I zip up the bag and sling it over my shoulder. On my way out, I grab the phone and dial one number.

He answers on the fifth ring.

"It's been three days," I say. "Time's up."


End file.
